“Who goes there?” cried the sentinel. “Who goes there?”
And as no answer was given, and as the flood of men still ascended:—
“Who goes there?” he cried for the third time.
And he levelled his musket.
The officer feels at once what would be the result of a shot fired in the apartments; he strikes up the sentinel’s gun, and rushing towards the assailants, he places his halberd across the top of the staircase, thus completely preventing any one from passing.
“Gentlemen! gentlemen!” cried he, “what do you want? What do you require?”
“Nothing, nothing,” said several voices, in mockery; “let us pass, we are good friends of his Majesty.”
“You are good friends of his Majesty, and you make war on him?”
This time there was no answer,—a sardonic laugh and nothing else.
A man seized the stock of the halberd that the officer would not let go. To make him quit his hold, the man bit his hand.
The officer snatched the halberd from the hands of his adversary, grasped the oaken stock with both of his, and dealing his adversary a blow on the head with all his strength, broke his skull.
The violence of the blow broke the halberd into two pieces.
The officer, consequently, had two arms instead of one,—a stick and a poniard.
He whirled the stick round, struck with the poniard. During this time the sentry had opened the door of the antechamber and called for assistance.
Five or six guards came out.
“Gentlemen! gentlemen!” said the sentinel, “assist Monsieur de Charny.”
The sabres sprang from the scabbard, glittered for an instant in the light of the lamp which burned above the staircase, and, to the right and left of De Charny, furiously attacked the assailants.
Cries of pain were heard; blood flowed; the wave of people retreated down the steps, leaving them red and slippery with blood.
The door of the antechamber opened again, and the sentinel cried:—
“Enter, gentlemen; the king orders it!”
The guards profited by this moment of confusion among the crowd. They rushed towards the door. De Charny entered last. The gate closes upon him; and the two large bolts shoot into their places.
A thousand blows are struck at once on the door, but benches, tables, and stools are piled up behind it. It would hold good at least for ten minutes.
Ten minutes! during these ten minutes some assistance might arrive.
Let us see what is going on at the queen’s quarters.
The second group has darted towards the small apartments; but the staircase is narrow,—scarce two people can pass at once.
George de Charny watches there.
At the third “Who goes there?” no answer being given, he fires.
At the report the queen’s door opens.
Andrée comes out, pale but calm.
“What is it?” asked she.
“Madame,” cried George, “save her Majesty! it is her life they want! I am opposed to a thousand, but I will hold out as long as possible! Quick! quick!” Then, as the’ assailants precipitated themselves on him, he shut the door, crying, “Draw the bolt! draw the bolt! I shall live long enough to allow the queen to fly!” And turning, he pierced the first two he met in the corridor with his bayonet.
The queen had heard everything, and was up when Andrée entered the room.
Two of her women, Madame Hogue and Madame Thibault, were hastily dressing her. Then, half dressed, the two women conducted her through a corridor to the king; while, calm and indifferent to her danger, Andrée drew bolt after bolt, as she followed the footsteps of Marie Antoinette.
Chapter XXV
The Morning
BETWIXT the two apartments a man waited for the queen.
This man was De Charny, covered with blood.
“The king!” cried Marie Antoinette, on seeing the blood on the dress of the young man; “the king! Monsieur, you promised to save the king!”
“The king is saved, Madame,” replied De Charny.
And looking towards the doors which the queen had left open, in order to reach the Œil de Bœuf,l where at this time were assembled the queen, Madame Royale,2 the dauphin, and a few guards, De Charny was about to ask what had become of Andrée, when his eyes met those of the queen.