flourishing his whip; he bolts forward towards Bondy. There a third
and final Bodyguard Courier of ours ought surely
to be, with post-horses ready ordered. There likewise ought that
purchased
Chaise, with the two Waiting-maids and their bandboxes, to be; whom
also her Majesty could not travel without. Swift, thou deft Fersen,
and may the Heavens turn
it well! Once more, by Heaven's blessing, it is all well. Here is the
sleeping hamlet of Bondy; Chaise with Waiting-women; horses all ready,
and postilions with their churn-boots, impatient in the dewy dawn.
Brief harnessing
done, the postilions
with their churn-boots vault into the saddles; brandish circularly
their
little noisy whips.
Fersen, under his jarvie-surtout, bends in lowly
silent reverence of adieu; royal hands wave speechless inexpressible
response;
Baroness de Korff's Berline, with {129} the Royalty of France, bounds
off; for ever, as it proved. Deft Fersen dashes obliquely
northward, through the country, towards Bougret;
gains Bougret,
finds his German coachman and chariot waiting there;
cracks off, and drives undiscovered
into unknown space. A deft active man, we
say; what he undertook to do is nimbly and successfully done. And so
the Royalty of France
is actually fled? This precious night, the short
