"Citizen Bonaparte," he whispered, "I see plainly that we can do nothing now to help the royal ones, since they have placed themselves in the care of the National Assembly, and will probably be safe. But Iwouldlike to save that poor little fellow's pet, if it be possible. What do you think?"
Before Bonaparte could reply, there was an exchange of volleying shots between the outside mob, and the inner defenders. With a roar of exasperation, the rabble flung itselfat the doors and windows using the hatchets, and when these gave way, the throng poured into the palace. For a moment Jean and Bonaparte were hurried along in the rush, and then at some sudden obstruction were forcibly separated, and Jean found himself alone amid a scene of indescribable confusion and danger.
The mob, first inhumanly butchered the Swiss Guard who had remained to defend the palace, then turned its attention to pillaging and destroying, with ruthless indiscrimination, the carefully hoarded treasures of this kingly mansion, and when this grew wearisome, attempted to set fire to different parts of the building. In such a reign of confusion, members of the mob frequently failed to discriminate among their victims, and often turned their weapons upon their own numbers.
Now Jean saw no reason for uselessly exposing himself to murder, and he looked about for the safest and most convenientplace to hide. It occurred to him that the closet where he had placed Moufflet on that memorable twentieth of June, would afford the best shelter. Making his way through the crush with the greatest difficulty, he at last reached the room, and managed to slip unobserved into this retreat, closing the door and locking it on the inside. The space was small, and no sooner had he crouched down in the farthest corner, than he felt something warm and soft under his hand. For a moment it startled him, and then, with a stifled cry, he clasped the fluffy mass to his heart.
"Moufflet!" he breathed, and the dog licked his face in an ecstasy of delighted recognition. Then he realised that the Dauphin must have placed him once more in this retreat, when the first alarm was heard. He felt almost happy. Here was half his plan accomplished! Now if he could only find Bonaparte, and they could get away unharmed, all would be well. He was just about to emerge from his hiding-place withMoufflet under his coat, when horrible shouts filled the room, and he quickly decided to remain where he was.
"Search this room! Search this room!" shrieked hoarse voices. "There may be aristocrats hiding here!" Then someone pulled at the door of his retreat. "Here's a locked door!" called a rough fellow. "A hatchet,—quick!" The splintered wood fell in with a crash, and shrieking with delight, they dragged Jean out of the closet. Thirsting for blood, the ruffians cared not, by this time, whether he was an aristocrat or one of their own number. He was hiding!—that was enough! A bloody hand grasped his collar, and another with a meat-axe was raised over his head. Jean was too paralysed with terror to do anything but wonder just how long it would take that axe to descend, when suddenly he saw it dashed from his assailant's hand, and a well-known voice shouted:
"Fool! Don't you know a goodsans-culottewhen you see one? I believe you'd murder your own brother!" The ruffian backed away, apologised sheepishly, and darted off into the crowd. And with a glad cry of recognition, Jean found himself in the arms of Bonaparte!
"A close one for you, lad!" was all his rescuer had time to say. To the end of his days, Jean could never tell just how they two struggled out of that palace of horrors, nor how he managed to keep his grip on the frightened, shivering, squirming Moufflet. But at last they found themselves beyond the walls, and near the bank of the Seine. In sheer exhaustion they dropped to the ground and lay there in the sultry morning sun for over an hour, happy merely to be alive and whole, after the experiences of that dreadful day.
And elsewhere the hours of this memorable day wore on, filled with a series of confused events through which the Dauphin and his family moved, as through some horriblenightmare. The child knew not their meaning, and could only occasionally grasp at the import of the drama. Three long, terribly uncomfortable days were passed in the great hall of the Assembly filled with representatives of the people. During all this time the royal family was crowded into a tiny hot room at the side where they were nearly stifled by the intense heat and discomfort, their hearts constantly trembling at the horrible sounds made by the mob raging without the building. Three weary nights were passed in the tiny cells in another building where they were taken to sleep.
The Assembly seemed to have great difficulty in deciding what to do with their superfluous ex-monarch! Some,—they were the fiercest,—wanted him killed immediately, as that would save them all further trouble and expense. Some thought that he and his family should be sent out of the country into exile. This was opposed because they said he might raise an army, march back and regainhis throne. Others were in favour of allowing him to live in retirement at the Luxembourg, a smaller palace than the Tuileries. This too was frowned down, because they thought it too luxurious and comfortable, and besides had underground passages to other parts of the city, through which he might escape. Finally they grew weary of the discussion.
"Oh, let us send him to the old Temple Tower, and keep him there! That is good enough for him!" And so it was decided. Two large carriages were procured, and the King, his family, and a few faithful servants were driven across the city, through the pitiless, mocking crowds, to the gloomy prison where they were to pass so many weary months and even years. The Dauphin, seated on his father's knee, looked out at the mob, shouting its frenzy of joy at their monarch's abasement.
"Are they not very wicked, Father?" he asked.
"No, dear son," answered the forgiving Louis XVI. "They are notwicked,—only mistaken!"
When at last the courtyard of the Temple was reached, the carriages halted and the occupants stepped out. The yard was filled with soldierscommanded by Santerre (but yesterday made a general!) yet no one helped them to alight. As they walked to the entrance, no man removed his hat, and when Santerre addressed the King, he forgot to say "Your Majesty," or "Sire." At the doorway they paused a second, but they did not lookback. The crowd shouted "Vive la Nation!" They passed inside, and the door was shut on the humiliation of the dethroned monarch!
"This country is going to the dogs!" It was Bonaparte who spoke, striding up and down thoughtfully, his head bent, his hands clasped behind him. The two friends were taking an evening stroll in the Jardin des Plantes, and discussing, of course, the affairs of the nation, which were the only matters that interested anyone in those stirring days.
"Yes, the country, and especially this city is going to the dogs, and I think I'll leave it!" Jean was thoroughly startled.
"Leave it!" he echoed. "Oh, Citizen Bonaparte, where would you go?"
"I believe I'll go home to Corsica," replied Bonaparte. "I love my home, and I've always been happy there, poor though it is.And besides, my sister Elisa has been a student at the royal school of St. Cyr. I have just received word that this school was closed and suppressed by the Assembly on August sixteenth. So I must go there and take Elisa home. I don't want to return. Paris is a horrible place!"
"But what shall I do without you?" wailed Jean. "You are my best friend! I have almost no others in these dreadful days."
"Come with me, then!" generously responded Bonaparte. "Have you never thought of becoming a soldier? I have received news of my reinstatement in the army, and I would gladly take you with me."
"Ah, but would I not love to do so!" answered the boy sadly. "It has ever been my secret wish to serve my country in the army, and in these days when we are struggling for liberty, I desire it beyond everything. But how can I leave Mère Clouet and Yvonne? The good mother has cared for me ever since she took me, a homeless waif fromthe Foundling Hospital, and it would be wrong to leave her and the little Yvonne unprotected in this mad city. It is true I am young, but I am all they have! And besides, I have set my heart on being of service to the poor little Citizen Dauphin in prison, if I can. We owe that debt to him and to his parents, who helped us in our hour of need."
"You speak truly!" said Bonaparte. "Your family is your first concern, and nothing appeals to me more than the desire to pay a debt, whether of money or gratitude. But should the opportunity ever come, I'll take you with me in the army, lad, for I like your spirit. Would that Paris had in her many more such!
"But Paris is insane, blood-intoxicated!" he went on thoughtfully. "It is amazing how blind she has become to the real peril! She seems to think that the whole danger to her new liberty comes from within her midst, in the persons of suspected royalists. Whereas, look you! France is reallymenaced fromwithoutby the foreign powers Austria and Prussia, whose armies are threatening our borders everywhere. These powers think that the conquest of this nation will be a mere summer picnic, because she is internally torn by a great Revolution. What the country needs is ahead! Oh, for someone who could mass all her squabbling factions in one united whole, and lead her to a glorious victory!"
So declaimed Bonaparte on this dusky, starlit night in the Jardin des Plantes. What if the curtain of the future could have rolled back for an instant and revealed to Jean's astonished gaze this same shabby young man, eight years later! He is the hero of a hundred, victorious battles! He has raised the perishing land of France and set her on the highest pinnacle of power in the world! He is the emperor of his country and the king of Italy! He has made his impoverished brothers and sisters kings and queens. He is at once feared, obeyed andadored! He has truly fulfilled his destiny! But the stars twinkled down on the Jardin des Plantes. Out of Paris rose the subdued murmur of an ever restless populace. The two friends walked together in silence for a space, and the future still darkly guarded the wonderful secret!
Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by a roll of drums from the Rue Saint Victor. In an instant everyone was hurrying in that direction, realising that it was a signal of importance. Jean and Bonaparte lost no time in joining the ranks of the curious. What they learned that night served to add in no way to their peace of mind.
It seemed that the brain of Danton, ever fertile in inventing outrageous and unbearable measures, had hatched a new scheme. This was no less than to apprehend all aristocrats who had been concealing themselves since August tenth, all who had belonged to the late Court or were in any way connectedwith it, and all who were suspected of royalistic sympathies. This was to be effected by a series ofdomiciliary visits. At the roll of the drums, all citizens were to repair at once to their homes and remain there two days, during which time they would be personally visited by a committee of surveillance. Suspicious evidences found in any house, would subject all its inmates to immediate imprisonment.
"You are to disperse at once!" ended the soldier who delivered this message. "By ten o'clock not a soul must be abroad! Citizens, retire at once to your homes!"
"Outrage! Unwarrantable outrage! This is worse than the Bourbon tyranny!" muttered Bonaparte, as the two separated, for it lacked but half an hour of the required time. "But go cautiously, Jean, when the inspectors visit your house! Remember, you've something incriminating there!"
When the following morning dawned, Paris was a singular sight! Streets that had beenpopulous with passing throngs and carriages, or swarming with the crowded masses of the poor, were silent and deserted. Everyone sought the vain protection of his own roof, which was soon to prove no protection at all, and waited in fearful expectation for the threatened visit. No one, were he never so innocent, could be certain of immunity. Valuable property was hurriedly concealed, and persons who had the slightest reason to think themselves objects of suspicion were carefully hidden, some even going so far as to have themselves nailed up within the walls of their houses!
For two days Mère Clouet, Yvonne and Jean remained within doors in nerve-racking uncertainty, trembling at the slightest sound, or the faintest cry in the streets. For they had in their midst, as Bonaparte had said, "something most incriminating,"—the pretty, coal-black spaniel of Louis Charles, so lately imprisoned and deprived of his title.
"What shall we do with Moufflet, when thecommittee of surveillance comes?" whispered Yvonne, who with all the others, instinctively lowered her voice in this time of peril, lest the very walls betray her.
"Leave that to me!" commanded Jean. "I've decided what I shall do and say, only be sure you do not contradict me, either by word or action!"
"I wish we could have hidden the little animal," sighed Mère Clouet, "but of course it would have been useless to try. He would surely betray both himself and us by some bark or whine!" So the hours wore away. The two days of suspense drew to an end, and the Clouet family were beginning to hope they had escaped the ordeal, when at dusk that night, a thundering knock was heard at the door.
"Open, or we break in!" growled a voice, and Jean hastened to comply.
"Coming, coming!" he called cheerfully. "You are welcome, citizens all!"
"That's a gayer greeting than we get atmost places!" answered a high nasal voice as the door was opened. And without further ceremony there tramped in six huge pikemen, headed by one of the committee of surveillance,—the owner of the nasal voice. He was a singularly unprepossessing specimen of humanity, thin, wiry, short of stature, evil-faced, with little, claw-like hands. He had a curious habit of slinking about with soft, noiseless steps and a watchful look in his beady eyes that reminded one irresistibly of a mouse. The pikemen addressed him as Citizen Coudert.
"Pikemen, do your duty," he commanded, "while I question these people!" And while the pikemen tramped through the house, emptying drawers, boxes and barrels, thumping the walls and floors, tearing up clothing and destroying china on the pretence of a more thorough search, Citizen Coudert proceeded to put the inmates upon a rack of torturing questions. He had just touched upon the ticklish subject of sympathy for theex-king and the royal family, when a shout from one of the pikemen announced the discovery of Moufflet, curled up in a distant corner.
"That's a dog I'll swear I saw at the Tuileries garden many a day this past year, with the little Wolf-Cub! I know dogs well, and am never mistaken in one!" Jean's heart was in his throat, but he maintained an indifferent air.
"Aha! is it so!" snarled Coudert, rubbing his claw-like hands, and with a gleam very like satisfaction in his beady eyes. "Answer me in regard to this dog, if you please, young sir! Is he the property of that Wolf-Cub brat?" Then Jean played his boldest card.
"He was, I suppose, Citizen Coudert, but he's mine now! And when you hear how I got him, you will say I did well, and acted worthily as a good republican citizen. I went with the throng to the palace on June twentieth, to see the sights. There I foundthis little dog, and I said to myself,—'Won't it be a fine joke on royalty to take this animal and train him in good republican ways!' So I caught him and carried him home." Citizen Coudert looked incredulous.
"You do not believe me, Citizen," continued Jean eagerly, "but hark! I will prove it! Here, Moufflet! Bark for Liberty!" The little animal ran to him, crouched, and barked once. "Now for Equality!" Moufflet barked twice. "Now for Fraternity!" The dog gave three short, sharp barks, then sat up and lifted its paws to beg. And Mère Clouet and Yvonne realised now why Jean had been diligently training the intelligent animal in this new accomplishment during the past two days of seclusion.
"Bravo!" applauded the pikeman. "That's a rare trick for a royalist dog! You've done well, my boy! I imagine we've no fault to find with you!"
"Be silent, Citizen Prevôt!" growled Coudert. "Pay attention to your own duties,and leave these things to me! Now, young sir, this is all very well, but what business had you to appropriate to yourself any property that belongs to the people at large? This dog should have been delivered to the Assembly. He is valuable, and might have been sold and the money turned to helping our starving poor. Hand him over to me! I will do what is right with him, but I'm going to keep a strict watch over you, do you understand? You have given me cause to be suspicious of you! Here, Prevôt, carry this dog! To the next house, pikemen!"
It was all Jean could do to be silent and submissive under this act of injustice and outrage, but imploring glances from Mère Clouet and Yvonne helped him to hold his tongue. The committee of surveillance left the house, accompanied by yelps of protest from Moufflet, struggling in the grip of Prevôt. When they were gone, Jean tramped up and down the room in a fury of rage and disappointment.
"That sneak of a Coudert!" he exploded. "Has he any more right to that dog than we have? He'll never give it to the Assembly, that I know! He wants it for himself, or else he just took it for the sake of robbing us! And now I cannot restore Moufflet to his little master, as I had hoped some day to do!"
"Hush! hush!" begged Mère Clouet. "We were lucky to have gotten off without being dragged to prison! Had it not been for that dog's trick, which you were clever enough to teach him, I doubt not but we would have all been in La Conciergerie within an hour!" But Jean was not to be passified by such reasoning, and he went to bed in wrath and tears, and Yvonne followed his example.
Events, however, shortly came to pass that made him sincerely thankful they were all yet alive and going about with heads still secure on their shoulders. The domiciliary visits of the last of August had so filled to overflowing every prison in the city with victims (sad to say, for the most partabsolutely innocent of the crimes imputed to them!) that a still more horrible plan was determined upon by those two arch fiends of the Revolution, Marat and Danton,—one which should at once clear the prisons for more victims, and strike such terror to the hearts of any remaining royalists as to suppress absolutely all further tendencies in this direction. This was nothing more nor less than a general massacre of all the prisoners without trial, justice or mercy.
At two o'clock on Sunday, September 2, 1792, this wholesale slaughter commenced, and for five days the prisons of Paris were scenes of unspeakable and indescribable carnage till at last they were empty. Never was there in history so revolting a sacrifice of innocent lives. Twelve thousand victims perished, and with this fearful prelude, the Reign of Terror began!
Three days later, Jean went to make his farewell visit to his friend Bonaparte, now no longer a resident of the Rue Cléry, forhe had in the meantime brought his sister to the city from St. Cyr, and was staying at the little hotel De Metz in the Rue du Mail. Bonaparte introduced the boy to his sister, a slender, rather pretty girl of fifteen in the tight-fitting black taffeta cap of the St. Cyr school. As she had little to say for herself, Bonaparte suggested that she remain in her room, while he and Jean repaired for a walk to their favourite spot, the Jardin des Plantes. Once there, Jean reported to him the outrages of their domiciliary visit and discussed with him the horrors of the past few days.
"Oh, Citizen Bonaparte," he ended, "I am sorely tempted to go away with you and join the army! I want to fight for better things for France. This is not liberty, here in Paris! It is oppression and butchery! But I dare not leave yet! I feel that I have a sacred trust to fulfil! Yet all has gone wrong! Moufflet is stolen and I shall never see him again. We are constantly in danger fromthat spying Coudert; it was only yesterday that I saw him again sneaking about our street! To help the royal family seems utterly impossible. And now you are going to leave me too,—you who once saved my life, and to whom I can never be grateful enough!"
"I am sorry, little Jean! I truly am!" answered his friend. "Many things call me away, but cheer up! The tide will turn, and there is no tellingwhat you may yet do—or what I may yet be! I tell you I believe in my fortunate star! But one thing I will say to you, my lad. You have a brave loyal spirit, than which I admire nothing more heartily. I likeyou, and I will surely come back some day,—and who knows what we may yet do together! Au revoir now! Be true to your trust, and don't forget the friend you once made by butting him flat on his back!" Jean could not even answer. He seized the young man's hands, kissed thempassionately, and with a sob fled down one of the long, green alleys of the Jardin. Could he have guessed how long it would be before he and this thin young man with the marvellous eyes should meet again, his despair would have been deeper yet. But that also was guarded with the secret of the future!
The warm September sun shone dazzlingly on the pavement before thebuvetteor tavern of Père Lefèvre. This shop was situated in the outer courtyard of the Temple Tower, and enjoyed the trade of all the soldiers, guards and commissaries employed in guarding the imprisoned king and his family. Père Lefèvre sat in a chair outside the door, nodding in the sunshine, for it was mid-afternoon and trade was dull.
Presently through the great gate and down the courtyard strolled a boy, whistling vigorously the "Ça ira!" He was a little over twelve years of age, strong and long-limbed. His eyes and hair were black, and his curlswere surmounted by a red liberty-cap. Such a racket did he make, that Père Lefèvre was awakened from his nap.
"Good afternoon, Citizen!" said the boy. "You look comfortable and happy! Business must be pretty poor to give you so much leisure!"
"Business is good enough, most of the time!" snapped Père Lefèvre. "I'm rushed to death in the morning and evening. Just now, however, the soldiers are all on duty, and it is not the hour for the commissaries' visit."
"Why don't you get someone to help you?" inquired the boy. "At your age it is not good for the health to get about so lively!"
"Help,—indeed!" growled Père Lefèvre. "Gladly would I, but the young boys are all too busy running about the streets and dancing the Carmagnole to pay attention to sober work. These are demoralising times for the young!"
"I imagine you are just the man for me,then," replied the boy. "The good woman I live with shoved me into the street this morning, and bade me not return till I had found employment for not less than seven francs a week. What do you say to that, my friend?"
"I say the saints must have sent you to me in my hour of need, and stay you shall for seven francs a week! But you must be here at six in the morning, and leave no earlier than ten at night."
"Done!" cried Jean, for of course it was he. "And now set me to work at once, lest I find time to regret our bargain!"
When Jean came back to the Rue de Lille that night, he was bubbling over with excitement and news.
"Oh, what do you think?" he exclaimed. "News!—the best of news! I am waiter at the tavern of Père Lefèvre, and have learned all about the situation of the ex-king and his family. The shop is crowded in the evening with soldiers and commissaries, andthey do nothing but gossip over their suppers about what goes on in the Tower.
"Ah! their poor, fallen Majesties! It must be terrible for them! They are called no longer 'King' and 'Queen,' but 'tis 'Monsieur Capet' and 'Madame Capet' and the 'Little Capets'!—nothing but 'Capet, Capet,' every other word! Then they are watched and guarded every moment. There are two rogues, Tison and his wife, who are hired to do nothing but watch, watch, watch, spy on every word, sneak behind them at unexpected moments to see that they are not writing to anyone outside, listen to all their conversation, and search them every night and morning lest they have concealed weapons about them, or some means of escape!
"Think of it!—they prevented the King from teaching his son the multiplication table, because they said it might contain a cipher for communicating with friends outside! They took away the Queen's embroidery-work because they thought she might besewing into it a secret language! They search every article of food that goes into the Tower, even cutting open loaves of bread and cake! Ah, it is horrible!
"The King and Queen and Madame Elizabeth spend their time in reading or teaching the children. Sometimes they take a walk in the tiny garden that is all enclosed by a high wall. To-day I heard the little fellow shout, as he romped there with his sister. There is talk too, in the tavern, that they are going to separate the King from his family, and keep him shut up by himself. After that they will bring him to trial, condemn him to death, and then!—" The thought was almost too much for the tender-hearted Jean, and he turned away lest the others should see the tears in his eyes.
"But do you think," questioned Yvonne, "that you will sometime get a chance to speak to the little fellow, and tell him that we still love him, and would do what we can to aid him?"
"I do not know yet," said Jean, "but I am going to try. He is so closely guarded, that it is all but impossible for even one within the Tower to make the slightest sign to him,—so well do those cats of Tisons perform their task. I can only wait and try, and meanwhile keep my eyes and ears open to all that goes on. I think some of the guards are more friendly to the unfortunates than others. If I am not mistaken, one or two are even royalists in disguise. If there should ever be any plans made for their escape you may warrant that I shall be helping! Royalist I may not be, but I am even willing to be taken for one in order to help my friends. But here's a piece of news that's not so good! Citizen Coudert is one of the commissaries of the Tower! He was not there to-day, but I heard his name mentioned, by chance. You should hear how they all speak of him! He has reminded more people than ourselves of a mouse, andhence they call him La Souris! But we must beware!"
Jean had not been long in the service of Père Lefèvre, before he became a general favourite. His friendly smile, his gay rejoinders, his sharp wit and his ready willingness won him many admirers. Few days went by when he did not dance on one of the tables, and sing the "Marseillaise" in his fresh young voice, for the benefit of an applauding audience. He even drew unaccustomed outsiders to the little tavern, and Père Lefèvre began to think he had drawn a prize when he hired the lively lad.
"He's worth seven francs and more," he would mutter, "even if hedoescrawl behind the counter and sleep away half his time!" But Jean was not as idle as Père Lefèvre supposed. He had his shrewd eyes always open, and his quick ears ready to catch the slightest whisper. Many a time when the tavern-keeper thought him sleeping behindthe counter, he was in reality only "playing possum," and listening all the while to the low-muttered conversations of the soldiers or municipals of the Tower. In this way he learned much, that no one ever suspected him of knowing.
Strangely enough, Citizen Coudert, or La Souris as he was universally though not openly called, exhibited no special interest in the boy's position as waiter here, nor in his close proximity to the royal prisoners. But Jean was perfectly certain that La Souris was keeping him under the strictest watch, nevertheless. He longed to ask him what had become of his little Moufflet, but dared not exhibit the slightest interest in a subject so dangerous.
But there was yet another of all the throng that frequented the tavern, who struck Jean with a thrill of dread, whenever he entered the shop. This was Simon, once a cobbler in the Rue des Cordeliers, now a commissary of the Tower. He was a medium-sized,square-built man of about fifty-seven years, with great, powerful limbs, a tanned face framed by coarse black hair that was always hanging in his eyes, and a heavy beard. His eyes were ugly and malicious, and he was never seen without a short black pipe between his teeth. His manner was gruff and insolent, especially when he spoke of the royal prisoners. Jean's hands itched to choke him, particularly on one day when he flung himself into a chair, and exploded in the following fashion:
"That Capet creature! What do you think he has done to-day? Handed me a paper on which was written,—'TheKingwishes such and such articles for his wardrobe! TheQueendesires some more linen, etc!' I said to him,—'Capet, don't you understand that we have abolished kings and queens? This nation is a republic now! Alter that memorandum as quickly as you can!' He replied that I could hand it to his valet and he would attend to it. The insolentobject! Those Capets! Kinging and queening themselves in spite of everything! I'll teach them a few lessons!"
Jean could not rid himself of the impression that this man was to play some dreadful part in the lives of the unhappy prisoners, and as time proved, he was not mistaken.
Meanwhile the months were passing, and events were hastening on toward the dark deed which our Jean could neither delay nor prevent,—the trial, condemnation and execution of Louis XVI. At last it came! The Republic pronounced him guilty of conspiring against the liberty of his people, and of endeavouring to endanger their safety by defending himself.
Poor King! His only crime had been that of being born a monarch, his heritage the wrongs committed by generations of his ruling ancestors, and his misfortune that he was utterly unable to cope with the situation in which fate had placed him. Never was a trial conducted that was so much ofa farce! The King was allowed two lawyers to defend his cause, but his condemnation was a foregone conclusion—even to himself. He was sentenced to lay down his life the very next day, the twenty-first of January, 1793. The new Republic had stained her glorious liberty by this great injustice, and therefore she dared lose no time in executing the sentence.
It must not, however, be supposed that the royal sufferers had no friends, that they were abandoned by all. Many royalists in the same city yet remained alive after the massacre of September, and would have laid down their lives to save the monarch they had never renounced. But they were overwhelmingly outnumbered by their enemies and rendered practically helpless. And even the good Republicans deemed this an outrage on personal liberty and deplored it, but the Terror kept them silent. Outside of Paris, whole sections of France still declared for the king. One especially, La Vendée, wasengaged in raising an army to defend his cause. Meanwhile, mob-ruled Paris held him in the very heart of her, helpless, a prisoner, condemned to die!
Jean never forgot that dreadful day! 'Twas early in the morning, and the tavern was crowded. In the courtyard stood the carriage waiting for the doomed monarch, while all pressed close to the doors and windows to see the better. Simon, the cobbler, harangued the crowd in his strident voice, and bade them rejoice that they were at last to be rid of so great a tyrant.
A roll of drums announced the coming of the fallen monarch. He crossed the courtyard on foot, pale but erect, calm and brave. Twice he turned and looked back toward the Tower, in farewell to all he held dear. At the entrance gate he stepped into the carriage and the door was shut. A great shout led by Simon went up from all but Jean. The cobbler, noticing his silence, grasped him by the collar.
"Shout, you monkey! Rejoice for the death of Capet! What? Are you a royalist?" he hissed. Jean did not dare to disobey. With a burstingheart, he snatched off his liberty-cap, threw it in the air, and cried: "Vive la République!" Simon, satisfied, let him go. He darted through the crowd unnoticed, and running madly, sought his home in the Rue deLille. There on good Mère Clouet's broad bosom he sobbed out his shame and sorrow for hours, and did not return to the tavern that day.
At quarter past ten o'clock, a dreadful shout rang out from the Place de la Révolution, mingled with the ringing of bells and the booming of cannon. Louis XVI was no more! Paris congratulated herself that at lastshe was rid of monarchy. But back in the Tower, a little frightened lad wept and shuddered on his mother's bosom,—a throneless, crownless boy-king, called Louis XVII of France!
"If we could only find someone among thesans-culotteswhere they could hide over one night,—someone who is at heart a sympathiser! That is all wanting to perfect the plan!"
Two men insans-culottecostume were seated at a small table in the restaurant of Père Lefèvre. Both were faces hitherto unfamiliar in the tavern. One was that of a young man, and was bold, keen and daring. His older companion's was of a more common type, but was distinguished by kindly blue eyes. They leaned across the table and spoke in low whispers with their heads close together. The little room was otherwise deserted, for Père Lefèvre nodded outside inthe morning sun. He had tended to the wants of his two customers with many muttered complaints about "that idle, good-for-nothing vagabond of a Jean, who was probably lying asleep somewhere!" Then he went back to his own nap.
The younger man, who had spoken last, tapped his fingers on the table impatiently, and waited for his companion to reply.
"I know of no one just now who would be safe," replied the other, "but wait a few days and perhaps we shall find one in time." Suddenly they were both startled to see the body of a boy wriggle noiselessly from behind an old screen and crawl toward them. He was covered with dust and cobwebs, and his eyes blazed excitedly.
"Citizens," he whispered, "I know of one who will serve you right well! Trust me!" The men looked at each other in astonishment and alarm. Had their cherished plans then, been overheard by this fierce little Republican who danced the Carmagnole andsang the "Ça ira!" with such grim delight? If so, all was lost! But Jean hastened to reassure them:
"I beg you to trust me, citizen friends! It is true I am not a royalist, but we love the little fellow and his good mother. Once she gave us heaven-sent help, and we have sworn to aid her if we could. For this I took service in the tavern. For this I have listened to every word of conversation that men carry on here in low tones, when Père Lefèvre thinks I am asleep. For this opportunity I have prayed,—oh, long, long months! Trust me, gentlemen!" The boy's words and looks were so earnest and sincere that the two men felt certain that he could be trusted with their secret, and must be, since he had discovered so much. The younger one took him by the shoulder:
"Swear by God and the late martyred King that you will be faithful!" he commanded. And Jean vowed to be faithful.
"Now," said the man, "how do you thinkyou can help us, since you have discovered so much?"
"Mère Clouet, with whom I live," declared Jean, "will joyfully open her house to the royal ones, and shelter them safely. She has the reputation for being one of the stanchestsans-culottesin the Rue de Lille, and none would ever suspect her!"
"It is the very thing!" exclaimed the two men. "It is a godsend!" Then in whispers they elaborated to Jean all the details of the plan for the escape of the Queen, her sister and the two children from the Tower. This is the plot that the boy had discovered, and in which he was to take so important a part.
There was in Paris a loyal and daring royalist, the Baron de Batz, who schemed so cleverly for the release of his sovereign that he was never discovered, even when it chanced that his plans failed. He, it seemed, was the younger of the two men whom Jean had overheard. He contrived to be present everywhere, seen nowhere, and had the mosttrusty agents and spies in his service. He also had many retreats and secure hiding-places in Paris, the principal one being at the house of a grocer named Cortey, who was a commissary at the Tower, and at heart a sympathiser with the royal sufferers. Through him, De Batz discovered another royalist, one Michonis, a soldier of the Temple guard. The three together had perfected a bold scheme of escape.
They had arranged that the first time Cortey should be on duty among the commissaries, he should enroll De Batz as his colleague for the day, under the name of Citizen Forget, and thus gain his admission to the Temple Tower. This had already been done, and De Batz, or Forget as he was now called, had studied the situation for several days, discovering about thirty men among the soldiery who would be faithful to the cause.
Then the scheme was to wait till a day when Cortey should be on duty as commissary, and Michonis also on guard among thesentinels, both at the same time. They would probably be obliged to wait quite a while for this, as the two men's turns did not coincide often. That day all the men on sentry at the staircase of the Tower were to wear long, military capes above their uniforms. When the hour came, late at night, Michonis was to take these capes from some of them, and put them on three royal women. In this disguise the Princesses with guns in their hands, would be incorporated among a patrol, and in their midst they would surround the child-king. Cortey was to command the patrol, and under the pretence of investigating some imaginary disturbance in the street, would have the great inner gates of the courtyard opened for them. Once outside the walls, their safety would be almost certain.
A carriage was to be waiting in the Rue Charlot. Jean was to be allowed to drive this, and take the fugitives near to the Rue de Lille. Then they would get out and maketheir way unobtrusively to the home of Citizeness Clouet. Here they would rest secure for the night, and in the morning escape insans-culottecostumes to a ship that would leave the port of Havre next night. The plan seemed perfectly thought out, and to Jean it appeared that success was certain.
While the three conspirators were whispering at the table, suddenly a shadow fell across the floor from the open doorway. With a little shiver of distrust, Jean turned round and faced the rat-like eyes of La Souris! He had, however, the presence of mind to appear very unconcerned, and invited Coudert to be seated at another table. The two men rose to leave, and before they went Jean remarked aloud:
"Citizens, you have entertained me vastly this afternoon with your tales of La Guillotine! I hope you will come again to help me pass a dull hour! What will you take, Citizen Coudert?" But in spite of his apparent unconcern, his heart misgave himsomewhat, for though La Souris said nothing to alarm him, he watched the boy more suspiciously than ever. He hurried home that night to Mère Clouet and Yvonne, with joy and fear mingled in his heart, and told them all the wonderful news, and the two Clouets spent some happy days thereafter, preparing for their royal guests.
The time passed while they were waiting for the auspicious day, and the conspirators were careful not to be seen too much in each others' company. Once, however, when Forget and Michonis happened to meet and exchange a few low-whispered words in the courtyard, if they had looked behind them, they would have noticed a little, wiry, evil-faced creature skulking around the corner of the building near which they stood. Jean, the lynx-eyed, from his vantage ground in the tavern doorway, caught sight of La Souris' suspicious manœuvres. He left the door, and strolled nonchalantly—past his friends, singing loudly, "Allons, enfants de lapatrie!" Just when he was opposite them he muttered between his teeth, "'Ware La Souris!" and sauntered on. The two men parted, and were careful not to meet again.
At last the long-looked-for day arrived. Michonis and Cortey were both on duty, and also twenty-eight loyal soldiers, among whom was Forget. All during the day nothing occurred to mar their plans, and Jean hugged himself and chuckled with delight. Night came and all was well. Michonis was at his post in the prisoners' apartments, while his colleagues rested, lounged or playedtric-tracin the council-room below. Simon alone was not among them, having been absent from the Tower for several hours. This was looked upon as a favourable omen.
At ten o'clock Jean hastened home to the Rue de Lille, donned the costume of a coachman, which, as he was growing wondrously tall and large, did not fit him ill, and leaving Mère Clouet and Yvonne tingling with suppressed excitement, hurried to one of thedark and deserted streets nearby. True to appointment, there stood a carriage driven by a liveried coachman. At the whispered word, "De Batz," the man got down, assisted Jean to climb up in his place, promised to be at the same spot two hours hence, and disappeared. Jean drove away, not proceeding straight to the Rue Charlot, but by a wide and devious route that took him first over a large part of that section of Paris. When he entered the Rue Charlot at the appointed time, eleven-thirty, it was quiet and dark.
Here he halted, and sat for nearly half an hour, feverish with impatience for the royal party to arrive. Presently he heard soft steps coming down the street, and his heart began to beat violently. But as the steps drew nearer, he beheld a little, wizened figure that had something strangely familiar about it, and his heart beat more violently still when he recognised his old enemy, La Souris! Nearer and nearer he drew with hisqueer, mouse-like manner, peering sharply to the right and left, and Jean began to hope that he would pass the waiting carriage without paying it any particular heed. But, no!—Citizen Coudert stopped directly before it, measured up the driver with his crafty eyes, and inquired:
"Is this carriage hired?" Jean thanked his stars for the broad hat that shaded his face, and the scarf that muffled him to the chin. He made his voice as deep as possible and replied:
"Yes, citizen! It is engaged for the evening!"
"Ah! Then you cannot take me to the Rue St. Denis?"
"No, citizen! I'm sorry!"
"Good-night, then!" growled Coudert as he moved off, and Jean responded with a shiver of apprehension. This strange individual's manner was so peculiar that one could never guess what were his real thoughts. Something about it all made the boy perfectly certainthat La Souris did not want a carriage to take him anywhere. But why he should inquire, and how much he suspected, or whether he suspected at all, Jean could not, for the life of him, determine! Another quarter of an hour passed. At last the silence of the night was broken by the stern command of a guard, and the clanking open of a great gate. Then indeed Jean's heart leaped into his throat, and he felt assured of success. But instead of a party of five, one man came running at top speed down the street. When he was near enough, Jean recognised the Baron.
"Quick!" whispered De Batz. "Drive like the wind!"
"Where?" demanded Jean in despair.
"To the Barriére St. Denis! I must get out of Paris!" and De Batz jumped in, closing the door softly.
The drive through Paris to the entrance called the Barriére St. Denis was the most bewildering Jean had ever taken. All theway he was wondering what could have happened, how the plot had been discovered, and whether this would affect the welfare and safety of all concerned. That La Souris was at the bottom of it, somehow, he had not a doubt. But nothing could be ascertained before the carriage reached its destination. When the Baron finally alighted, he pressed Jean's hand and thanked him for his quiet, efficient service.
"It's a mystery to me!" he said in explanation. "All seemed to be going so well until nearly midnight. Then that devil of a Simon entered the guard-room with his usual infernal racket, and demanded that we have a roll-call of the guards. He turned to Cortey and snarled,—'I'm especially glad to see you here, Citizen Cortey! I wouldn't be easy withoutyou!' Then I saw plainly that the whole thing was discovered. Ah! but for a moment I had a wild desire to blow out that surly rascal's brains! But reason told me that this would, far from mendingmatters, only serve to incriminate us all. So I managed to keep perfectly calm while the roll was called. Then Simon went upstairs, probably to interview Michonis, and left Cortey in charge of us. While he was gone, Cortey pretended that he heard a disturbance in the street, organised a patrol of eight (including myself), and we came out to investigate it. Thus I escaped. Cortey is a brave man and true! His patrol will number only seven when he returns! Well, it is a grief to me that it has failed but be of good courage, lad! I shall live to hatch more plots and, trust me, you shall take a part! I pray that none of you suffer for this, but I think you will not, as our tracks are well covered. I cannot stay longer! God bless you, and good-bye!" The brave man slipped away in the darkness, leaving Jean to drive wearily back to where he was to deliver the carriage to the coachman, and then plod home on foot to the Rue de Lille.
His heart was almost too heavy to carewhat became of him, and he hated to face the disappointment of Mère Clouet and Yvonne. Their sorrow at the failure of their hopes was all and more than he had pictured it. But after a while, when they had talked it all over and were preparing to retire for the night, Yvonne made a sign to her mother, and then turned to Jean:
"We have a surprise for you!"
"What is it?" he asked without much enthusiasm, for he was too weary and disgusted to care about lesser matters. Mère Clouet disappeared into another room for a moment, and returning, with a quick movement deposited something in his lap. Jean almost tumbled out of his chair!
"Moufflet!" he gasped. "How?—when?—where?—" The little animal fairly smothered him with caresses, and the light of happiness came back to the boy's eyes.
"Listen!" cried Yvonne. "About eleven o'clock this evening, we were sitting here, when suddenly I heard a strange scratchingat the door. I thought perhaps you had returned with the royal ones and were giving us a signal, so I ran to open the door, when there jumped right into my arms this little Moufflet! He was breathless with running and coveredwith mud and dirt. Oh, how glad he seemed to see us! I gave him a bath and fed him well, and he has been sleeping ever since. Howdoyou suppose he came here?"
"He must have escaped in some way from La Souris, though I can't imagine how!" replied Jean. "And, goodness knows! he's had a run, clear from the other side of Paris! It's a wonder he ever found us again! But we mustbe right careful of him, now. If La Souris should discover him here again, he'll swear I stole him!
"But, oh!" he thought, "if only the little fellow could have come to-night and found his pet here!"
No one ever knew just how it came about that the scheme of the Baron De Batz had failed. La Souris was firmly believed to be the one who had discovered it, though whether he had really become acquainted with the facts, or only suspected a plot could not be ascertained. All the conspirators could discover was that during the day, one of the grenadiers not in the plot had found a folded paper lying outside the courtyard. It contained but one sentence,—"Beware! Michonis will betray you to-night!" The soldier handed this to Simon, who immediately took steps to prevent all action, and had Michonis brought up before the Commune.
But wary Michonis had cleverly coveredup his tracks! There was no evidence of guilt found upon him or any of his companions. He answered openly and calmly all incriminating questions, and seemed so earnestly and candidly interested in the welfare of the Republic, that the Commune decided Simon must have been mistaken, in spite of the note.
This, however, irritated Simon beyond measure! He doubled all the guards at the Tower. Then he went whining to the great Republican leader, Robespierre, complaining that he had unearthed evidence of many plots to carry off the royal child, proclaim him King of France, and overthrow the Republic. Between the two they so manœuvred that in consequence of these rumours, the Committee of Public Safety issued a decree:—the boy must be separated from his mother, kept in an apartment by himself, and put in charge of some tutor to be chosen by the Convention.
Then came the question who should takecharge of him, who should be given the important task of educating his royal ideas in the principles of the Republic? Who but Simon, the zealous commissary that had been so active in thwarting all schemes of release! Yes, let Simon have charge of this tender life, and let his wife be there to assist him and minister to the bodily wants of this carefully reared, tenderly nurtured little son of a monarch! So it was decreed!
It was about ten o'clock on the night of July third, 1793. Louis XVI had been dead nearly six months. In their room in the Tower sat the Queen, Madame Elizabeth and little Marie-Thérèse. The two older women were sewing, or rather vainly attempting to darn and patch their much-worn clothes, for the Republic saw fit to provide them with no new ones. The fair young girl of fifteen was reading aloud. All were dressed in neat black gowns, their mourning-costume for the late king.
Over in a corner, in a small bed with nocurtains about it, slept the little Louis Charles. His mother had carefully hung up a dark shawl to shield his eyes from the light and shut off the draughts. Once he stirred in his sleep and sighed heavily. Marie-Thérèse stopped reading, and all glanced toward the bed.
"Poor little fellow!" sighed his mother. "His life is not very happy now!"
"But how brave he is!" said Madame Elizabeth. "He never complains a bit, he tries so hard to be cheerful and keep us all in good spirits, and how tenderly he always speaks of his father!"
"Is it not strange," added Marie-Thérèse, "how he never speaks now of our happy life at Versailles, (how far away that all seems!) and he never even mentions the Tuileries, for fear it will make us sad! For one so young, he is very, very thoughtful!"
"God grant that he may have happier years in store for him in the future!" sighed Marie Antoinette. "But, whatever comes, Ipray that he may never sit on the throne of France! Nothing but sorrow could come of it!" She shuddered, and after a moment's silence they all continued their work. Suddenly there was a loud sound outside on the staircase,—a heavy tread of feet, a hideous clanking of bolts and bars unfastened. The three women looked at one another in dismay. But they thought it was only another of the insulting searches to which they were obliged to submit so frequently, and at such uncertain hours. The last door opened, and six municipals entered.
"We are come with an order from the Committee of Public Safety," said their spokesman, in a loud, brutal manner. "The son of Louis Capet is to be separated from his family. Give him up to us at once!" Poor Marie Antoinette could not believe her senses. Separated from his mother! A little child of only eight! They could not be so cruel!
"It is not possible!" she cried, trembling."You have got the order wrong! It cannot be true! He is so young, so weak! He needs my care!" Her anguish softened for a moment even the hearts of the rough municipals.
"Here is the decree," they said, more gently. "We did not make it,—it was the Convention. We are only here to carry it out and we cannot help ourselves." The three women placed themselves before the child's bed. They defended it with their bodies, they sobbed, they prayed, they implored, they humbled themselves to the utmost. All to no purpose!
"Come, come!" at length remonstrated the head of the band. "Give over this disturbance! They are not going tokillthe child! He will be safe and in good hands." He approached the bed and seized the heavy shawl which fell on the boy, waking him suddenly and completely enveloping him. He shrieked aloud in his sudden fright and clung to his mother, crying:
"Do not let them take me! Oh, mother, mother!"
But the municipals were growing weary of the scene. "If you do not let him go peaceably," they warned, "we will call the guard and take him by force!" Then the Queen begged that he should be left at least over that night, that she should be allowed to see him at meals each day. In vain! In despair the three women began to dress him. Never did a toilet take so long! They lingered over each garment, passed his shoes from hand to hand, put them on and took them off again, thinking in this way to delay the time of parting a few moments.
"Hurry, hurry!" commanded the officials. "We cannot wait all night!" At length it was completed. The Queen took her son, all trembling and frightened, sat him on a chair, kneeled down before him, and clasped both his hands in hers.
"Dear little child of mine, we are about to part! I know not when we shall see eachother again, but when I am not with you, remember always your duty. Never forget that it is the good God who is putting you to this test! Be good and patient, brave and straightforward, and your father will bless you from Heaven where he is gone!" Then she kissed him and gave him to the municipals. But the little fellow broke from them, rushed to her again and clasped her knees with his arms. With the tears streaming down her cheeks, she released his hold. "Go, my son! You must obey me!" Grasping his arm, the leader dragged him, still looking backward, from the room. The women strained their gaze till they could see him no longer, and the door was shut!
Down in the room below, in the apartment formerly occupied by Louis XVI, a thick-set, dark man was striding about, smoking an evil-smelling pipe. The door opened, and some municipals entered with a sobbing boy. They spoke a few words to the man and then went out, leaving Louis XVII alone with histutor. He recognised at once Simon the cobbler, whom he had frequently seen before, and for whom he entertained an unconquerable aversion.
"Sit down on that chair, Little Capet!" commanded the cobbler, without removing his pipe from his mouth. The child obeyed.
"Now there are a few things I want you to understand," said Simon, striding up and down before him, puffing out great clouds of smoke, "and we might as well make them plain in the beginning. In the first place, you are to be called nothing but Little Capet! Do you comprehend that?" The boy made no answer, but only choked and coughed, for the unaccustomed smoke almost strangled him. Simon laughed aloud at his plight.
"Next, you are to obey implicitly every order that I give you. I'm master, now! Do you understand?" Still no answer.
"Lastly, you are to forget all about your royal fol-de-rols, and learn carefully from me how to conduct yourself as a good citizenof this great and glorious Republic. I'll teach you! Oh, I'll teach you well!" The boy's continued silence irritated him beyond measure.
"Answer me, you little pig!" he shouted, grasping him by the collar. And for the first time in his life, the son of a king, the gentle loving child who had never before had a rough hand laid on him, was shaken to and fro by the cobbler's muscular arm. He sobbed and caught his breath, but still persisted in a stubborn silence. Simon now perceived that in this frail little body, he had an iron will to cope with, and mentally bracing himself, he vowed to break it or perish in the attempt.
Then ensued a frightful struggle! The cobbler scolded, threatened, raged, tramped about the room, and finally resorted to blows. The little king set his teeth and endured to the last, but he would not open his lips. It was far into the night when Simon, furious but exhausted, threw the boy on hisbed in a dark corner, and left him to sob out his grief, pain and despair till morning.
The next day appeared on the scenes, Madame Simon, the cobbler's wife. She was very little, very fat and very ugly. Her face and hands were brown like Simon's, and she always wore a cap tied with red ribbons, and a blue apron. She was rough, coarse-mannered and common like her husband, but unlike him, she was inclined to be a little more kindly toward their captive.
The young King took no more notice of her than he had of Simon. For two days he would touch neither food nor drink, persisting always in his obstinate silence. On the third day some municipals came to pay a visit of inspection. Rushing to them, the child demanded with blazing eyes:
"Where is the law by which you keep me from my mother? Show me the law! I wish to see it!" The men only laughed, but Simon dragged him away, exclaiming:
"Silence, Little Capet! What do you knowabout the law, young fool?" When the visitors had gone, he continued:
"Now that I see you have not forgotten how to speak, I shall teach you to shout 'Vive la République!' and dance the Carmagnole. We will make a brave little patriot of you!"
Time went on, and gradually the poor child learned that stubbornness would prove of little avail, so he resigned himself to his cruel master with as good grace as he could. He never forgot, however, that he was a king, and his actions were always dignified and manly. His mother, failing in her demand to see him, had his books and playthings sent down, that he might both amuse himself and continue his studies. The things were all dumped into a corner in a heap. Simon 'pooh-poohed' at the books and used their pages to light his pipe. The toys he either stepped on or threw away, as the fancy took him.
"I'll give thee something to amuse thee,and instruct thee too!" he volunteered one day, and presented his charge with a little concertina. "Now pipe away on that! Thy wolf of a mother can play, and thy dog of an aunt can sing. Thou shalt learn to accompany them! It will be a fine racket!" Louis Charles pushed the instrument away from him. The coarse remarks about his mother and aunt stung him to the quick. "I do not wish it!" he said quietly. Simon was furious! He had taken the trouble to make the little wretch a gift, and it was scorned!
"Peste! You shall suffer for this!" he threatened. And suffer the poor child did for many a long day, in consequence of that refusal. Yet no brutality ever induced him to touch the hated instrument. Simon finally gave it up.
When he entered under the cobbler's yoke, the little king had worn a suit of black clothes, in memory of his father. Simon'sjealous eye was not long in perceiving that the child was fond of these clothes, since his mother had fashioned them.
"It's time you left those off!" he announced one day. "I'll have no one about me mourning for old Capet! We'll have a gay little new suit made for you!" Louis begged and pleaded to no avail. A few days after, he was arrayed in a little coat and trousers of the Revolutionary red, and a bright red liberty-cap. The boy donned the suit sadly but without resistance. But when it came to the liberty-cap, nothing would induce him to let it be placed on his head. He fought and struggled wildly against wearing the headdress of his father's murderers. It was only through Madame Simon's interference that the cobbler gave up the contest.
"Come, come!" she said. "Let be! Another time perhaps, he will listen to reason!" The child gave her a grateful glance that she never forgot.
In addition to his other hardships, the young king was obliged to wait on his two captors, and run at their beck and call like the meanest servant. He performed his tasks without a murmur, and counted himself fortunate if he were not rewarded by a kick, or a cuff on the ear.
One morning while it was yet dark, Louis XVII awoke on his hard truckle-bed. All days now were bad enough and sad enough, but he somehow had a presentiment that this one would be worse than the rest. He rose shivering, lighted a little foot-stove, and took it to Madame Simon's bed as he had been directed to do. She scolded him sleepily for not bringing it sooner, and his heart ached as he recalled how he used to lay a bouquet from his garden at Versailles on his mother's bed every morning. Oh, the hideous difference! After his scanty breakfast, he caught the eye of Simon fastened upon him, with some new, malignant interest in its gaze.
"Thou art bewigged like a royalcourtier!" growled the cobbler, passing his rough hand over the silky curls. "'Tis little like a good Republican's head. This must go!" With a huge pair of shears, he hacked into the thick hair with great, jagged strokes. In a few moments the curls all lay on the floor, and Louis Charles stood like a shorn lamb, heartbroken but tearless, before his tormentor. Then the cobbler took his charge down to the courtyard for his daily breath of fresh air. Someof the soldiers, at the sight of the poor, ill-cropped head, laughed immoderately. Only one commissary, Meunier, said regretfully:
"Why have you hacked off all the hair that was so becoming, Simon?"
"Oh, don't you see! We are playing at a game of despoiling kings!" chuckled Simon. Again the soldiers laughed. The child, always peculiarly sensitive to mockery, hung his head and turned away, losing all desire to run about with his football. He was glad when Simon took him inagain.
That night the cobbler made him drink two glasses of bad wine. As he had heretofore never touched anything but water, it made him stupid and heavy. Perhaps he did not quite understand what was happening. Perhaps his spirit was at last beginning to break. But, at any rate, when Simonsaid to him:
"Now here's your nice red cap! Put it on!" the boy, worn out with struggling, yielded at last.
"Ah! Now thou art a truesans-culotte!" cried Simon in triumph. And he crowned the shorn head of Louis XVII with the badge of the Commune!