Over in a corner, in a small bed with no curtains 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, I pray 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 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!"