“Remember Varennes!” the Queen added sadly, her face sinking into utter lassitude as she looked out on the bright Palace gardens.
“Remember, madam, that Her Majesty of France had no Nelson—and may I add, no Emma.”
The Queen clasped her hand silently. There was a long pause.
“Madam, Your Majesty has not heard our plans. We hear almost daily from Nelson. Can you suppose that he cannot carry all the treasures and all the needs of Your Majesty and the Royal Family?”
“If he were at our disposal, yes!” said the Queen languidly. “But why discuss the impossible, chère Miladi? Imagine our possessions conveyed through the Jacobin mob? Imagine ourselves—no, no, we should be torn to pieces. If I could risk it for myself, how could I risk it for my children?”
Emma drew nearer, her quick eyes surveyed the room, the doors, for listeners. The Queen sat by the window, leaning her elbow on it and her chin on her hand; an attitude of utter dejection.
“We have no star. All fails with us,” she said. Emma stood, leaning slightly against the window and as if idly gathering a rosebud or two from the lavish growth outside. Her voice was so lowered that it carried to the Queen’s ear, and no farther.
“Let us suppose, madam, when we recall the history of your sainted sister the Queen, that Paris had been on the sea. That an English Fleet could have come and gone at its will. That the Admiral had been devoted to Her Majesty’s service. That he had had a friend in the Queen’s confidence and his own who could act as intelligencer between them. Does Your Majesty think the flight could have succeeded then?”
“Not even then,” said the Queen wearily. “The true difficulty lies in conveying so many people, so many possessions between the Palace and the ship. Do you suppose the Jacobin watch sleeps at night?”
“Suppose there had been a secret passage between the Palace and the sea, madam, known only to those who could be trusted. What would Your Majesty say then?”