Then, taking the priest by the hand, he drew him into the little turret which served him for a studio. In this room, all that was to be found consisted of a couple of chairs, a small earthenware stove, a few books, and an ivory crucifix.
“I have,” said he to the Abbé, “arrived at that moment in my life when I must earnestly seek to make my peace with heaven, so that I may humbly hope to pass from a weary life to one of peace and quietude.”
With these words, he produced his will, and read it over twice to the Abbé, electing him as his judge in this final act of life. He feared that, in the very act of pardoning his enemies, he might accuse them, and he was specially desirous that any appearance of this nature should be avoided.
His voice only faltered when he spoke of the Queen, his sister, and his children. He lived now only in the love he had for his family; apart from them, he had resigned all thoughts of life.
A calm conversation ensued. The King inquired after many old friends; speaking, not with the air of a man who is vanishing into death, but with the appearance of a man who, after absence, asks eagerly for those he loved and left behind.
Hour after hour passed away, and still the Abbé waited for the King to give an intimation that he wished to pray with the minister.
At seven, he was to have his last interview with his family; and as this moment approached, he appeared to dread it far more than the thought of the scaffold.
He was unwilling that so great an agony as this parting must necessarily be, should trouble the calmness of his death, which, obviously, he looked upon in the light of a sacrifice.
The Queen and princesses had the news by this time, for the street criers bawled the fact of the next day’s execution of the King under the very windows of the Temple tower. All hope was dead; and the only sentiment which swayed them was this: would the King be prevented from taking a last good-bye—would he be prevented from kissing them, and blessing them, before he went forth to die?
One last word—one last kiss!—this was now the boundary of the wishes of the once brilliant Marie Antoinette, one of the proudest princesses, and, as a wife, one of the greatest martyrs, the world has yet seen.