“Sir officer,” said the King, “how is it that I found no one at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles?”
“I was asking myself, sire, how it was that you arrived without escort.”
The sight of a commander of dragoons talking with the deepest respect to a sort of valet-de-chambre, seated in the front seat of the carriage, redoubled the astonishment of the people, and began to change that astonishment rapidly into suspicion.
Still, the King took no precaution to hide himself.
At this moment, M. Drouet came out from the door of his house, and seeing the man who was talking to the commander of the dragoons, he cried, “Just heavens—the King!”
He had much the same expression of face as he had at the federation, and his general appearance was such that he was not easily disguised.
A municipal officer was there; his name was Farcy.
Drouet touched him on the elbow.
“Do you recognize that man?” said he, pointing to the King.
“Yes,” replied the other. “It is the King.”