But Dumouriez, with his fugitive Host, with his King Ludovicus or King Philippus?  There lies the crisis; there hangs the question:  Revolution Prodigy, or Counter-Revolution?—­One wide shriek covers that North-East region.  Soldiers, full of rage, suspicion and terror, flock hither and thither; Dumouriez the many-counselled, never off horseback, knows now no counsel that were not worse than none:  the counsel, namely, of joining himself with Cobourg; marching to Paris, extinguishing Jacobinism, and, with some new King Ludovicus or King Philippus, resting the Constitution of 1791! (Dumouriez, Memoires, iv. c. 7-10.)

Is Wisdom quitting Dumouriez; the herald of Fortune quitting him?  Principle, faith political or other, beyond a certain faith of mess-rooms, and honour of an officer, had him not to quit.  At any rate, his quarters in the Burgh of Saint-Amand; his headquarters in the Village of Saint-Amand des Boues, a short way off,—­have become a Bedlam.  National Representatives, Jacobin Missionaries are riding and running:  of the ‘three Towns,’ Lille, Valenciennes or even Conde, which Dumouriez wanted to snatch for himself, not one can be snatched:  your Captain is admitted, but the Town-gate is closed on him, and then the Prison gate, and ‘his men wander about the ramparts.’  Couriers gallop breathless; men wait, or seem waiting, to assassinate, to be assassinated; Battalions nigh frantic with such suspicion and uncertainty, with Vive-la-Republique and Sauve-qui-peut, rush this way and that;—­Ruin and Desperation in the shape of Cobourg lying entrenched close by.

Dame Genlis and her fair Princess d’Orleans find this Burgh of Saint-Amand no fit place for them; Dumouriez’s protection is grown worse than none.  Tough Genlis one of the toughest women; a woman, as it were, with nine lives in her; whom nothing will beat:  she packs her bandboxes; clear for flight in a private manner.  Her beloved Princess she will—­leave here, with the Prince Chartres Egalite her Brother.  In the cold grey of the April morning, we find her accordingly established in her hired vehicle, on the street of Saint-Amand; postilions just cracking their whips to go,—­when behold the young Princely Brother, struggling hitherward, hastily calling; bearing the Princess in his arms!  Hastily he has clutched the poor young lady up, in her very night-gown, nothing saved of her goods except the watch from the pillow:  with brotherly despair he flings her in, among the bandboxes, into Genlis’s chaise, into Genlis’s arms:  Leave her not, in the name of Mercy and Heaven!  A shrill scene, but a brief one:—­the postilions crack and go.  Ah, whither?  Through by-roads and broken hill-passes:  seeking their way with lanterns after nightfall; through perils, and Cobourg Austrians, and suspicious French Nationals; finally, into Switzerland; safe though nigh moneyless. (Genlis, iv. 139.) The brave young Egalite has a most wild Morrow to look for; but now only himself to carry through it.