"Come, come!" at length remonstrated the head of the band. "Give over this disturbance! They are not going to _kill_ the 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 munic.i.p.als 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, pa.s.sed 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 each other again, but when I am not with you, remember always your duty. Never forget that it is the good G.o.d 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 munic.i.p.als. 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 munic.i.p.als entered with a sobbing boy. They spoke a few words to the man and then went out, leaving Louis XVII alone with his tutor. 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 citizen of 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 his bed 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 ap.r.o.n. She was rough, coa.r.s.e-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 munic.i.p.als 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 know about 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 Republique!' 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 coa.r.s.e 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's jealous 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 royal courtier!" growled the cobbler, pa.s.sing 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. Some of 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 in again.

That night the cobbler made him drink two gla.s.ses 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 Simon said 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 true _sans-culotte_!" cried Simon in triumph. And he crowned the shorn head of Louis XVII with the badge of the Commune!

HOW YVONNE SAW THE KING

CHAPTER IX

HOW YVONNE SAW THE KING

Meantime, Jean in the tavern had not been idle. His quick eyes, keen ears and alert wits were ever on the watch. During the past month he had made a friend, and hatched a little scheme of his own. The friend was Citizen Barelle, one of the many and ever-changing commissaries of the Tower. Barelle often came into the little tavern after his duties for the day were over, and not infrequently Jean heard him speak with sincere regret of the present condition of the wretched little monarch and his brutal tutor. These remarks made Jean feel certain that Barelle possessed not only a kindly heart and quickly aroused sympathies, but that he would also be easily disposed to render the necessary help. He resolved to take this man at least partially into his confidence.

Therefore when a favourable opportunity presented itself one afternoon, and he had Barelle to himself in the little eating-room, he opened the subject cautiously.

"Citizen Barelle, I see you are a friend of the little fellow over yonder! So am I!" Barelle showed some astonishment at this disclosure.

He replied:

"If you are, my lad, you had best say little about it in public! But why do you speak of it to me?" Then Jean told him how the queen had once rendered them help in their distress, and how they had grieved at the misfortune of their royal benefactors. He said nothing of his determination to aid them to escape if he could, but he did suggest this:

"Mere Clouet would be very glad to do the laundry work for the Tower. I see that the position is vacant since Citizeness Pataud left here last week. Perhaps you could have her appointed. And then, would it not be possible, when she and little Yvonne come with the clothes, to have Yvonne taken up to play with the little fellow once in a while? You say he is so lonely, and has no pleasures. There could surely be no harm in that!" Barelle considered for a while, gravely.

"You are a kind little chap!" he said at last, "and a grateful one too!

Yes, we need a laundress badly, and no doubt they will be glad to have found one so soon. I will use what influence I have. But about the little Yvonne,--we must see later!" The next week it was all settled.

Mere Clouet was notified of her appointment as laundress to the Tower, and Barelle whispered to Jean that he thought they could manage it about Yvonne.

Jean was ecstatic at the success of his scheme! So was the good Mere Clouet, and as for Yvonne,--she never slept a wink the night before she went for the first time, so excited was she over the prospect! Jean gave her a long list of instructions early that morning, before he departed for Pere Lefevre's. Among them, these were the princ.i.p.al ones: