Royal Carriages, which men were even then busy loading with large well-stuffed luggage-bags,’ leather cows, as we call them, ‘vaches de cuir; the Royal Arms on the panels almost entirely effaced.’  Momentous enough!  Also, ’on the same day the whole Marechaussee, or Cavalry Police, did assemble with arms, horses and baggage,’—­and disperse again.  They want the King over the marches, that so Emperor Leopold and the German Princes, whose troops are ready, may have a pretext for beginning:  ‘this,’ adds Carra, ’is the word of the riddle:  this is the reason why our fugitive Aristocrats are now making levies of men on the frontiers; expecting that, one of these mornings, the Executive Chief Magistrate will be brought over to them, and the civil war commence.’ (Carra’s Newspaper, 1st Feb. 1791 (in Hist.  Parl. ix. 39).)

If indeed the Executive Chief Magistrate, bagged, say in one of these leather cows, were once brought safe over to them!  But the strangest thing of all is that Patriotism, whether barking at a venture, or guided by some instinct of preternatural sagacity, is actually barking aright this time; at something, not at nothing.  Bouille’s Secret Correspondence, since made public, testifies as much.

Nay, it is undeniable, visible to all, that Mesdames the King’s Aunts are taking steps for departure:  asking passports of the Ministry, safe-conducts of the Municipality; which Marat warns all men to beware of.  They will carry gold with them, ‘these old Beguines;’ nay they will carry the little Dauphin, ’having nursed a changeling, for some time, to leave in his stead!’ Besides, they are as some light substance flung up, to shew how the wind sits; a kind of proof-kite you fly off to ascertain whether the grand paper-kite, Evasion of the King, may mount!

In these alarming circumstances, Patriotism is not wanting to itself.  Municipality deputes to the King; Sections depute to the Municipality; a National Assembly will soon stir.  Meanwhile, behold, on the 19th of February 1791, Mesdames, quitting Bellevue and Versailles with all privacy, are off!  Towards Rome, seemingly; or one knows not whither.  They are not without King’s passports, countersigned; and what is more to the purpose, a serviceable Escort.  The Patriotic Mayor or Mayorlet of the Village of Moret tried to detain them; but brisk Louis de Narbonne, of the Escort, dashed off at hand-gallop; returned soon with thirty dragoons, and victoriously cut them out.  And so the poor ancient women go their way; to the terror of France and Paris, whose nervous excitability is become extreme.  Who else would hinder poor Loque and Graille, now grown so old, and fallen into such unexpected circumstances, when gossip itself turning only on terrors and horrors is no longer pleasant to the mind, and you cannot get so much as an orthodox confessor in peace,—­from going what way soever the hope of any solacement might lead them?