.

At six o'clock two things have happened. Lafayette's Aide-de-camp,
Romoeuf, riding a franc etrier, on that old Herb-merchant's route,
quickened during the last stages, has got to Varennes; where the Ten
thousand now furiously demand, with fury of panic terror, that Royalty
shall forthwith return Paris-ward, that there be not infinite bloodshed.
Also, on the other side, 'English Tom,' Choiseul's jokei, flying
with that Choiseul relay, has met Bouille on the heights of Dun; the
adamantine brow flushed with dark thunder; thunderous rattle of Royal
Allemand at his heels. English Tom answers as he can the brief question,
How it is at Varennes?--then asks in turn what he, English Tom, with M.
de Choiseul's horses, is to do, and whither to ride?--To the Bottomless
Pool! answers a thunder-voice; then again speaking and spurring, orders
Royal Allemand to the gallop; and vanishes, swearing (en jurant).
(Declaration du Sieur Thomas in Choiseul, p. 188.) 'Tis the last of
our brave Bouille. Within sight of Varennes, he having drawn bridle,
calls a council of officers; finds that it is in vain. King Louis has
departed, consenting: amid the clangour of universal stormbell; amid
the tramp of Ten thousand armed men, already arrived; and say, of Sixty
thousand flocking thither. Brave Deslons, even without 'orders,' darted
at the River Aire with his Hundred! (Weber, ii. 386.) swam one branch
of it, could not the other; and stood there, dripping and panting,
with inflated nostril; the Ten thousand answering him with a shout of
mockery, the new Berline lumbering Paris-ward its weary inevitable way.
No help, then in Earth; nor in an age, not of miracles, in Heaven!

That night, 'Marquis de Bouille and twenty-one more of us rode over the
Frontiers; the Bernardine monks at Orval in Luxemburg gave us supper and
lodging.' (Aubriot, ut supra, p. 158.) With little of speech, Bouille
rides; with thoughts that do not brook speech. Northward, towards
uncertainty, and the Cimmerian Night: towards West-Indian Isles, for
with thin Emigrant delirium the son of the whirlwind cannot act; towards
England, towards premature Stoical death; not towards France any
more. Honour to the Brave; who, be it in this quarrel or in that, is
a substance and articulate-speaking piece of Human Valour, not a
fanfaronading hollow Spectrum and squeaking and gibbering Shadow! One of
the few Royalist Chief-actors this Bouille, of whom so much can be said.

The brave Bouill