Orléans rode with us in Madame’s coach and as it drew to a halt at the imposing columns of the tollhouse we found ourselves encircled. Without the armorial markings upon the door, the soldiers were at a loss to determine who sat within. La Buffon’s coachman hastily explained that he had the great fortune to be conveying Monsieur d’Orléans back to the Palais-Royal. There seemed a good deal of confusion before some officer in a hat with a red plume stepped forward. I watched as, in the distance, Orléans’s valet, Mongot, presented him with our passports and spoke with him at some length. The officer then approached.

‘Monsieur, it does me a great honour to deliver to you the news of the King’s abdication,’ said the commander.

The Duke’s expression remained still. ‘When did this event occur, Commandant?’

‘Early this morning, monsieur. The King and his family have thrown themselves upon the mercy of the Legislative Assembly, where they currently reside.’

‘They reside inside the Manège? In the Assembly itself?’ Orléans’s voice was puzzled, rising somewhat in pitch. ‘And what will become of them? Has blood been spilled?’

The officer straightened himself.

‘The King and Queen have not been harmed, but the Tuileries Palace is under siege. The Swiss Guard have fired upon the people, and our forces and the Fédérés have come to the aid of the citizens of Paris, monsieur.’

Orléans sat, taking in this news. After a beat, he gave a nod.

‘The day we have much anticipated has arrived,’ he stated with a sanguine tone. He did not wish to appear troubled but those who sat opposite him in Madame’s coach could read the meaning of the creases which had appeared upon his forehead.

The commander brightened. ‘It is a great day for the nation, monsieur.’ He then hesitated. ‘However, there is at present a degree of upheaval. All barriers to the city have been ordered shut. Many of the palace guard are at large and searches have been ordered of all homes. There are some sympathetic to the King who would harbour these traitors.’ His hard eyes fell upon mine and Madame de Buffon’s. He wished to frighten us and, indeed, he succeeded. ‘I would warn you, messieurs-dames, there is unrest in all sections, but it would be a great honour for me to dispatch a detachment of my men to escort your party to the Palais-Royal in safety.’

Orléans glanced about the coach. His look was touched with faint unease. ‘As you will, Commandant,’ he agreed.

As the officer turned to rally his men, Madame de Buffon laid her hand upon her lover’s arm. ‘Mon cher, you must ride at the head of the procession in your coach with Beaujolais. It would not do to have the Champion of the People seen returning to Paris in his mistress’s conveyance.’