When he came home at nine as usual to breakfast, his wife said. “Where is our Catherine?”
“Catherine?” he said with an effort. “The air is bad on the farm and I sent her over to her aunt’s in Sologne.”
“Good, she wanted a change. Will she make a long stay?”
“Till she gets better.”
Drying her tears the good woman went to sit in the chimney corner while her husband rode off into the fields.
Dr. Raynal had passed a restless night also. He was roused by Viscount Charny’s lackey pulling at his nightbell and, riding over to Boursonne, found that he had a couple of bullets in his side. Neither wound was dangerous, though one was serious. In three calls he set him up again; but he had to wear a bandage for a time, which did not prevent him riding out. Nobody had an idea of his accident.
It was time for him to be healed—time to return to Paris!
Mirabeau had promised the Queen to save her, and she wrote to her brother on the Austrian throne:
“I follow your counsel. I am making use of Mirabeau but there is nothing of weight in my relations with him.”
On the following day, he saw groups on the way to the Assembly and went up to learn the nature of the outcries.