"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, and hence 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 he does crawl 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 behind the 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,—'The King wishes such and such articles for his wardrobe! The Queen desires 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 insolent object! 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.