In five minutes, after going a couple of hundred paces, a great clamor was heard behind. As they were placed, the Queen was the passenger who could first get her head out of the window.
She drew in almost instantly, covering her eyes with both hands, and muttering:
"Oh, woe to us! they are murdering Choiseul."
The King tried to rise, but the two ladies pulled him down; anyhow the carriage turned the road and they could not see what passed at twenty paces that way.
Choiseul and Damas had mounted their horses at Sausse's door but Romeuf's had been taken away from the post-house. He and two cavalrymen followed on foot, hoping to find a horse or two, either of the hussars and dragoons who had been led off by the people, or abandoned by their masters. But they had not gone fifteen steps before Choiseul perceived that the three were in danger of being smothered, pressed down and scattered in the multitude. He stopped, letting the carriage go on, and judging that Romeuf was of the most value to the Royal Family in this strait, called to his servant, James Brisack, who was mixed up with the press.
"Give my spare horse to Captain Romeuf."
Scarce had he spoken the words than the exasperated crowd enveloped him, yelling:
"This is the Count of Choiseul, one who wanted to take away the King! Down with the aristocrat—death to the traitor!"
All know with what rapidity the effect follows the threat in popular commotions.
Torn from his saddle, Count Choiseul was hurled back and was swallowed up in that horrible gulf of the multitude, from which in that epoch of deadly passions one emerged only in fragments.