Isidore wanted to keep in the dark but the Queen pressed forward. He dragged her into the depths of the gateway but the torchlight flooded this cave with its beams.
In the middle of the escort of cavalry, half reclining in a carriage, in his costume of General of the National Guards, was Marquis Lafayette.
As it whizzed by, Isidore felt an arm, strong with will if not real power, elbow him aside. It was the Queen's left arm, while with a cane in her right hand she struck the carriage wheels.
"A fig for you, Jailer!" she said. "I am out of your prison!"
"What are you doing, and what are you risking?" ejaculated the Viscount.
"I am taking my revenge," said the silly victim of spite, "and one may risk a good deal for that."
Behind the last torch-bearer she bounded along, radiant as a goddess, and gleeful as a child.