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Patience, ye royal Individuals; Fersen understands what he is about. Passing up the Rue de Clichy, he alights for one moment at Madame Sullivan's: "Did Count Fersen's Coachman get the Baroness de Korff's new Berline?" "Gone with it an hour and a half ago," grumbles responsive the drowsy Porter. "C'est bien." Yes, it is well; though had not such hour-and-half been lost, it were still better.
This precious night, the shortest of the year, it flies, and drives! Baroness de Korff is, at bottom, Dame de Tourzel, Governess of the Royal Children: she who came hooded with the two hooded little ones: little Dauphin; little Madame Royale, known long afterwards as Duchesse d'Angoulême. Baroness de Korff's Waiting-maid is the Queen in gypsy-hat.
The king might have been sure that the Count knew which way to drive, after managing so well all else that he had to do. He was only going to Madame Sullivan's, to make sure that the new berlin was gone to the place where they were to meet it. All was right. Count Fersen's servant had called for the Baroness de Korff's coach, an hour and a half before.
Fersen, under his jarvie-surtout, bends in lowly silent reverence of adieu; royal hands wave speechless inexpressible response; Baroness de Korff's Berline, with the Royalty of France, bounds off; for ever, as it proved.
Forth therefore, O Fersen, fast, by the Barrier de Clichy; then eastward along the Outer Boulevard, what horses and whipcord can do! Thus Fersen drives, through the ambrosial night. Sleeping Paris is now all on the right-hand of him; silent except for some snoring hum: and now he is eastward as far as the Barrier of Saint-Martin; looking earnestly for Baroness de Korff's Berline.
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