"By whom?" demanded Hanriot.
"By his guardian."
"Do you accuse me?" cried Simon,—"do you denounce me? Ah! that is curious—"
"Let us try gentleness," said Fouquier. Then turning toward the child, whom one would have supposed to be insensible,—
"My child," said he, "reply to the National Commission; do not aggravate your situation by refusing us any useful information. You have spoken to the Citizen Simon about your mother,—how you caress her and love her; how she caresses and loves you?"
Louis threw a glance around the assembly, which gleamed with hatred when it rested on Simon, but he did not reply.
"Do you feel yourself unhappy?" demanded the accuser; "are you uncomfortably lodged, badly fed, and unkindly treated? Would you wish more liberty, better food, another prison, another guardian? Would you like a horse to ride upon, and some companions of your own age?"
Louis still maintained the profound silence he had only once broken, to defend his mother.
The Commission was utterly confounded at so much firmness and intelligence evinced by a child.
"Ah, these kings!" said Hanriot, in a low voice, "what a race! They are like tigers; even the young ones inherit their wickedness."