"Can that really be the little Dauphin whom I remember so well having seen in the Park of the Tuileries? I should never recognise him! He must be terribly ill. Have you sent for a physician?"
"Yes," answered Gomin. "At least I have reported his sickness, but nothing has been done about it." That night Lasne wrote in the register, "Little Capet is so ill that it is feared he will not live!" Then, and not till then, did the authorities see fit to act on so unimportant a matter, and they designated physician Desault to attend the boy. Desault was not long in discovering that his services would be all but useless. The child was far beyond hope, and all he could do was to ease any possible suffering. Desault himself was taken suddenly ill, not long after, and died a short time before the supposed prince. Two other physicians took his place, though they too felt assured that their services would not be needed long. At last, word was sent forth on the tenth of June, "Little Capet is dead!" The event not being considered as of any special importance by the public at large, it was ordered that he be buried as quickly and with as little ceremony as possible. This was done as directed, the reports were duly made out, and officially Louis XVII was no more!
But unofficially, in the little attic room, Louis XVII was very much alive, and wild with anxiety to be released from his long confinement! The time had come for the last step in this great undertaking, and circumstances had rendered that step far easier than the previous ones had been. In the first place, La Souris was well out of the way, being still in a state where it would take months for him to leave his bed. Then, Louis XVII was considered dead and buried! Therefore, why take any further precautions for safe-guarding his empty prison, thought the authorities!
A few days after the little funeral procession had wended its way from the Tower, Jean and Caron went to the attic room to procure the great basket with the false bottom. They were going to remove some things from the room of the "Little dead Capet" to the rubbish pile upstairs. At the same hour, Mère Clouet and Yvonne were to call for the soiled linen in the now deserted room. It was all very simple! The sentries on the stairs took no notice whatever of their proceedings. When they deposited the basket in the room, Mère Clouet's big clothes-hamper was already standing there, having been brought in while they were upstairs. Quickly they took out the false bottom and lifted up Louis Charles. He was alert and conscious this time, having begged hard not to be drugged.
"I will be so good!" he promised. "I will scarcely breathe! Oh, do let me go as I am, and see and hear everything!" So they granted his wish. The change of baskets did not take a moment. As the boy cuddled down in Mère Clouet's hamper, he took one last look about the room where he had suffered so much.
"Jean," he whispered, "I pray God that I may never see it again!" Then they buried him deep beneath a mound of linen.
"Can you breathe?" whispered Jean through the cracks of the basket.
"Nicely! I'm all right!" came the voice from within.
"Then, an revoir!" returned Jean. He and Caron lifted the great burden to their shoulders and carried it downstairs. No one challenged them. No one was interested in the contents of a basket which they thought contained only the soiled clothes of a boy now safely dead and buried! They shoved the huge hamper into the carriage, slammed the door carelessly on Citizeness Clouet and Yvonne, and called to the driver:
"Number six hundred and seventy Rue de Lille!" and the cab rolled away. It was all over, and the little captive of the Temple was free forever!