The French Revolution (1837)
Thomas Carlyle

     By and by, we note a thickset Individual, in round hat and peruke, arm-and-arm with some servant, seemingly of the Runner or Courier sort; he also issues through Villequier’s door; starts a shoebuckle as he passes one of the sentries, stoops down to clasp it again; is however, by the Glass-coachman, still more cheerfully admitted.  And now, is his fare complete?  Not yet; the Glass-coachman still awaits.  -- Alas!  and the false Chambermaid has warned Gouvion that she thinks the Royal Family will fly this very night; and Gouvion, distrusting his own glazed eyes, has sent express for Lafayette; and Lafayette’s Carriage, flaring with lights, rolls this moment through the inner Arch of the Carrousel, -- where a Lady shaded in broad gypsy-hat, and leaning on the arm of a servant, also of the Runner or Courier sort, stands aside to let it pass, and has even the whim to touch a spoke of it with her badine, -- little light magic rod which she calls badine, such as the Beautiful then wore. The flare of Lafayette’s Carriage rolls past: all is found quiet in the Court-of-Princes; sentries at their post;  Majesties’ Apartments closed in smooth rest.  Your false Chambermaid must have been mistaken?  Watch thou, Gouvion, with Argus’ vigilance; for, of a truth, treachery is within these walls.

     But where is the Lady that stood aside in gypsy-hat, and touched the wheel-spoke with her badine?  O Reader, that Lady that touched the wheel-spoke was the Queen of France!  She has issued safe through that inner Arch, onto the Carrousel itself; but not into the Rue de l’Echelle.  Flurried by the rattle and rencounter, she took the right hand not the left; neither she nor her Courier knows Paris; he indeed is no Courier, but a loyal stupid ci-devant Bodyguard disguised as one. They are off, quite wrong, over the Pont Royal and River; roaming disconsolate in the Rue de Bac; far from the Glass-coachman, who still waits.  Waits, with flutter of heart; with thoughts -- which he must button close up, under his jarvie-surtout!

     Midnight clangs from all the City-steeples; one precious hour has been spent so; most mortals are asleep.   The Glass-coachman waits; and in what mood!  A brother jarvie drives up, enters into conversation; is answered cheerfully in jarvie-dialect: the brothers of the whip exchange a pinch of snuff; decline drinking together, and part with good night.   Be the Heavens blest! here at length is the Queen-lady, in gypsy-hat; safe after perils; who has had to inquire her way.  She too is admitted; her Courier jumps aloft, as the other, who is also a disguised Bodyguard, has done; and now, O Glass-coachman of a thousand, -- Count Fersen, for the reader sees it is thou, -- drive!

[Thomas Carlyle, The French Revolution.  1837.]