CHAPTER XXXV.
IS LOVE ETERNAL?
The route from St. Menehould to Châlons is long and fatiguing—nine apparently never-ending leagues, traversing flat and arid plains under a leaden sky, with a sun darting his scorching rays with reflected lustre on the musket barrels and sword blades.
The royal family arrived at Châlons fatigued, dispirited and worn out, at ten in the evening.
Half the original followers of the royal escort had thrown themselves down under hedges and in ditches, unable any longer to proceed.
But the actual escort was as strong on arriving at Châlons as when leaving St. Menehould, since it was recruited by the National Guard of every village through which it passed; and the villages were pretty thickly scattered on the right and left of that road.
The authorities, of whom the Mayor took the lead, conducted the prisoners to the gate of the Dauphin. I use the word prisoners advisedly, as the royal family were in fact, at that time, prisoners of the nation.
Strange coincidence!—the gate through which they passed was the triumphal arch raised by the French people in commemoration of the entry of Madame the Dauphine into France.
It still bore the inscription, “May it stand eternal like our love.”
The arch, in fact, still stood, but the love which prompted it had fallen away.
At Châlons, especially, opinion changes.