The king received the priest's blessing and a prayer for support, and called for his hat, as all the others had kept their hats on. Seeing that Clery had his overcoat ready for fear he would be cold, and the shiver would be taken for that of fright, he said:
"No; nothing but my hat."
He took advantage of the act to shake his hand for the last time.
"Let us go, gentlemen," he said, with the tone of command so rarely used by him.
In crossing the first yard, he turned two or three times to wave a farewell to his dear ones.
With the priest he stepped into a hack, and the procession started, leaving the queen no hope save for a rescue on the road. That of a respite had already vanished.
She fell into a chair, sobbing: "To think of his going without saying good-bye!"
The streets were foggy and deserted, as all citizens were forbidden to be about unless belonging to the armed militia, and there were no faces up at the windows.
All the prisoner saw was a forest of pikes and bayonets, with a large drum corps before the party and cavalry around.