EXIT THE COBBLER
Louis Charles Capet sat on his rough wooden chair by a table, anxiously eyeing the door, and listening nervously for the slightest sound. Simon was not with him, having gone up on the platform by himself for a little airing. Madame Simon sat knitting in another corner of the room. Just for a while the child was enjoying one of his rare intervals of peace, free from violence, insult and terror.
Had one watched him, it would soon have become evident that he was waiting for something,—waiting, longing, with every nerve tense, for some desired event. It was the day that the laundry should come back, and the child knew it. Therefore with all his heart he was hoping for one of those infrequent visits with Yvonne, the sole pleasure in his weary little existence. It was long since she last came to him.
For a while nothing was heard in the room but the click of Madame Simon's knitting-needles, and the chirp and flutter of five or six canaries in a big gilt cage on the table. It was through the goodness of the kind-hearted Meunier, another commissary, that the child had been allowed this plaything. Pitying his forlorn and empty life, Meunier had obtained permission to have placed in the room a gilt cage that he had found in the store-room of the Temple. This cage contained an artificial canary, which when wound up would whistle the air, "O Richard! O, my king!"
At first Louis Charles was immensely pleased with this toy, thinking that the bird was alive and a captive like himself. But when he discovered that it was only an automaton, he lost all interest and apathetically refused to be entertained by it. Then good-natured Meunier scoured the neighbourhood and brought him some live canaries to put with the mechanical one.
"These, at least, are real birds!" the child cried gleefully, and kissed each one as it was put into the cage. "I shall try to tame them!" From that time he had always a pleasing occupation with his feathered captives. He fed them, cleaned the cage, and clapped his hands with delight when they all started to sing, accompanying the toy one in his tune of the "King's March." One little fellow seemed tamer than the rest, never failed to come when the boy chirped to it, and even perched fearlessly on his shoulder. This one he called "La Petite," and had tied a tiny pink ribbon around its leg.
But the birds were rather quiet just now, hopping about and twittering softly. Suddenly in the silence of the room there sounded the rasping of bolts undrawn, the clanking of chains and the hoarse command of the sentries. The door queued. The boy's heart almost stood still in the intensity of his expectation. Would she come? Was Yvonne just beyond the door? With a stifled cry of joy he recognised the sound of her voice, and knew that his desire was to be fulfilled. When she entered he thought she looked grave, and not nearly so buoyant as was her wont. Poor Yvonne! At that very moment she was sick with fear for Jean's yet unknown fate.
Wishing to rid herself at once of the packet, and deeming Simon's absence the most favourable moment, she thrust it into his hand under the table.
"From your mother! Hide it quickly!" she whispered. Watching Barelle and Madame Simon who were talking together, he slipped to his bed, and shoved the packet into a small hole in the mattress, returning noiselessly to Yvonne. Then he said aloud:
"I have something for you, Yvonne. It is not much, but I wish you to take and enjoy it!" And he handed her a small, shrivelled pear. Little Yvonne was sincerely touched by this gift. She knew how small an amount the poor child got to eat, and she could not bear to deprive him of even this miserable little piece of fruit.