‘We shall be overturned!’ screamed La Buffon, clutching me. I reached to let down the shade on the window, but we bounced and jumped so that I could not get a purchase on it. ‘Mon Dieu! We shall die here!’ despaired my friend. I was cold with terror, for I too believed that I might meet with my end. There was a scuffle outside my window. I saw only a blur of blue guard uniforms and black hats. A pike clattered against the door and then came the most dreadful sound ever to pierce my ears: the dull thud of an axe against a man. A perfect arc of blood was thrown across the glass pane as the howls of the dying were joined by our shrill wails of horror.

Madame’s coachman did not delay another instant. We broke free from the fracas at a gallop which sent us and the two terrified, yelping canines tumbling backward against the bench. We did not stop but drove at a maddened pace down the rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs to the far side of the Palais-Royal, along the passage de Valois, passing similar scenes of chaos and disorder as we flew. All the while La Buffon clung to me, and I to her. Words had been stripped from us so that we could do little more than weep in unison.

Madame and I were still very much a-tremble as we stopped before an archway at the side of the Palais-Royal and were handed from her coach. From here, we were escorted up a modest, marble stairway which led on to a broad landing aglow with daylight. A set of gold painted doors were opened and we were admitted to what I learned were the Petits Appartements, the Duke’s private residence within his formal palace.

I could not at first take in much of the magnificence of what passed before my eyes, for alarm had come over my senses like a veil. La Buffon had not let hold of my arm the entire time, nor had her tears dried. We swept through one gilded, mirrored chamber after another, one furnished with yellow silk and another in marine blue. Her stride grew ever more rapid as we progressed towards a destination unknown to me. When at last we arrived at a final set of doors and were announced, she tore free from me and fled to Orléans.

He stood at the centre of a white, mirrored salon, surrounded by dismayed and harried gentlemen, gesticulating and arguing furiously amongst themselves. Upon catching sight of her, his fretful expression was instantly transformed. Relief lifted his eyes and mouth. Mindful of the audience, he reached for her hands and pressed them tightly, then laid kisses upon both cheeks while whispering assurances to her.