The French ambassadors themselves were undecided and gloomy; their ladies were pacing the rooms with sad faces and tearful eyes. Every one was in the most painful and anxious state of mind. The whole day passed in this manner, and night set in when finally the messenger whom the ambassadors had sent to Colonel Barbaczy, returned to Rastadt. But he did not bring the expected written reply of the colonel. In its place, an Austrian officer of hussars made his appearance; he repaired to the Prussian Count Goertz, at whose house the other ambassadors were assembled, and brought him a verbal reply from Count Barbaczy. The colonel excused himself for not sending a written answer, stating that a pressure of business prevented him from so doing. He at the same time assured the count and the ambassadors that the French ministers could safely depart, and that he would give them twenty-four hours for this purpose. [Footnote:
Vide Dohm, nach seinem Wollen und Handeln, von Cronau, p. 600.]
The officer brought, however, an autograph letter from Barbaczy to the French ministers, and he repaired to the castle in order to deliver it to them.
This letter from Barbaczy contained the following lines:
"Ministers: You will understand that no French citizens can be tolerated within the positions occupied by the Austrian forces. You will not be surprised, therefore, that I am obliged to request you, ministers, to leave Rastadt within twenty-four hours."
"Barbaczy, Colonel."
"Gernsbach, April 28, 1799." [Footnote: Dohm preserved a copy of this letter.--Ibid.]
"Well, what are we to do?" asked Roberjot, when the officer had left them.
"We will set out," said Jean Debry, impetuously.
"Yes, we will set out," exclaimed his beautiful young wife, encircling him with her arms. "The air here, it seems to me, smells of blood and murder; and every minute's delay redoubles our danger."
"Poor wife, did they infect you, too, already with their evil forebodings and dreams?" said Jean Debry, tenderly pressing his wife to his heart. "God forbid that they should endanger a single hair of your dear, beautiful head! I am not afraid for myself, but for the sake of my wife and of my two little daughters. For you and for our friends here I would like to choose the best and most prudent course."
"Let us set out," said Madame Roberjot; "the terrible dream last night was intended to give us warning. Death threatens us if we remain here any longer. Oh, my husband, I love nothing on earth but you alone; you are my love and my happiness! I would die of a broken heart if I should lose you! But no, no, not lose! We live and die together. He who kills you must also take my life!"
"They shall not kill us, my beloved," said Roberjot, feelingly;
"life, I trust, has many joys yet in store for us, and we will return to our country in order to seek them there. Bonnier, you alone are silent. Do not you believe also that we ought to set out to-night?"
Bonnier started up from his gloomy reverie. "Let us set out," he said, "we must boldly confront the terrors from which we cannot escape. Let us set out."
"Be it so!" shouted Roberjot and Jean Debry. "The republic will protect her faithful sons!"
"And may God protect us in His infinite mercy," exclaimed Madame Roberjot, falling on her knees.
And Jean Debry's wife knelt down by her side, drawing her little girls down with her.
"Let us pray, my children, for your father, for ourselves, and for our friends," she said, folding the children's hands.
While the women were praying, the men issued their last orders to the servants and to the postilions.
At length every thing was in readiness, and if they really wished to set out, it had to be done at once.
Roberjot and Jean Debry approached softly and with deep emotion their wives, who were kneeling and praying still, and raised them tenderly.
"Now be strong and courageous--be wives worthy of your husbands," they whispered. "Dry your tears and come! The carriages are waiting for us. Come, come, France is waiting for us!"
"Or the grave!" muttered Bonnier, who accompanied the others to the courtyard where the carriages were standing.
The ambassadors with their wives and attendants had finally taken seats in the carriages. Roberjot and his wife occupied the first carriage; Bonnier, the second; Jean Debry with his wife and daughters, the third; in the fourth, fifth, and sixth were the secretaries of legation, the clerks and servants of the ambassadors.
The last coach-door was closed; a profound momentary silence succeeded the noise and turmoil that had prevailed up to this time.
Then the loud, ringing voice of Roberjot asked from the first carriage, "All ready?"
"All ready!" was the reply from the other carriages.
"Then let us start," shouted Roberjot, and his carriage immediately commenced moving. The other five carriages followed slowly and heavily.
The night was chilly and dark. The sky was covered with heavy clouds. Not the faintest trace of the moon, not a star was visible.
In order that they might not lose their way, and see the bridge across the Rhine, a man, bearing a torch, had to precede the carriages. But the gale moved the flame so violently that it now seemed near going out, and then again flared up and cast a glare over the long procession of the carriages. Then every thing once more became dark and gloomy and ominously still.
The torch-bearer, preceding the foremost carriage, vigorously marched ahead on the road. All at once it seemed to him as though black figures were emerging from both sides of the highway and softly flitting past him. But assuredly he must have been mistaken; it could not have been any thing but the shadows of the trees standing on both sides of the road.
