And now see Boniface Le Blanc bustling, as he never did for the jolliest toper.  See Drouet and Guillaume, dexterous Old-Dragoons, instantly down blocking the Bridge, with a ‘furniture waggon they find there,’ with whatever waggons, tumbrils, barrels, barrows their hands can lay hold of;—­till no carriage can pass.  Then swiftly, the Bridge once blocked, see them take station hard by, under Varennes Archway:  joined by Le Blanc, Le Blanc’s Brother, and one or two alert Patriots he has roused.  Some half-dozen in all, with National Muskets, they stand close, waiting under the Archway, till that same Korff Berline rumble up.

It rumbles up:  Alte la! lanterns flash out from under coat-skirts, bridles chuck in strong fists, two National Muskets level themselves fore and aft through the two Coach-doors:  “Mesdames, your Passports?”—­Alas!  Alas!  Sieur Sausse, Procureur of the Township, Tallow-chandler also and Grocer is there, with official grocer-politeness; Drouet with fierce logic and ready wit:—­The respected Travelling Party, be it Baroness de Korff’s, or persons of still higher consequence, will perhaps please to rest itself in M. Sausse’s till the dawn strike up!

O Louis; O hapless Marie-Antoinette, fated to pass thy life with such men!  Phlegmatic Louis, art thou but lazy semi-animate phlegm then, to the centre of thee?  King, Captain-General, Sovereign Frank!  If thy heart ever formed, since it began beating under the name of heart, any resolution at all, be it now then, or never in this world:  “Violent nocturnal individuals, and if it were persons of high consequence?  And if it were the King himself?  Has the King not the power, which all beggars have, of travelling unmolested on his own Highway?  Yes:  it is the King; and tremble ye to know it!  The King has said, in this one small matter; and in France, or under God’s Throne, is no power that shall gainsay.  Not the King shall ye stop here under this your miserable Archway; but his dead body only, and answer it to Heaven and Earth.  To me, Bodyguards:  Postillions, en avant!”—­One fancies in that case the pale paralysis of these two Le Blanc musketeers; the drooping of Drouet’s under-jaw; and how Procureur Sausse had melted like tallow in furnace-heat:  Louis faring on; in some few steps awakening Young Bouille, awakening relays and hussars:  triumphant entry, with cavalcading high-brandishing Escort, and Escorts, into Montmedi; and the whole course of French History different!

Alas, it was not in the poor phlegmatic man.  Had it been in him, French History had never come under this Varennes Archway to decide itself.—­He steps out; all step out.  Procureur Sausse gives his grocer-arms to the Queen and Sister Elizabeth; Majesty taking the two children by the hand.  And thus they walk, coolly back, over the Marketplace, to Procureur Sausse’s; mount into his small upper story; where straightway his Majesty ‘demands refreshments.’  Demands refreshments, as is written; gets bread-and-cheese with a bottle of Burgundy; and remarks, that it is the best Burgundy he ever drank!