“It is the decree of the Committee,” replied the officer harshly, unmoved by the deadly pallor of the Queen; “the Convention has decided on the measure, and we are sent to carry it into immediate execution.”
“Oh, I can never submit to it!” cried the unhappy mother. “In the name of Heaven, I beseech you, do not demand this cruel sacrifice of me!”
Both her companions joined their entreaties to hers. All three had instinctively placed themselves before the child’s bed, as if to defend it against the approach of the officers; they wept, they prayed, they exhausted themselves in the humblest and most touching supplications. Such distress might have softened the hardest heart; but to these pitiless tools of the villanous Convention, they appealed in vain.
“What is the use of all this outburst?” they demanded at length. “Your child is not going to be killed. You had better give him to us without any more trouble, or we shall find other means of getting him.”
In fact, they began to use force against the desperate mother. In the struggle, the improvised bed-curtain was torn down and fell on the head of the sleeping Prince. He awoke, saw at a glance what was happening, and flung himself into his mother’s arms.
“Mamma, dear mamma!” he cried, shaking with fright, “do not leave me!”
The Queen clasped him close to her breast, as if to protect him, and clung with all her strength to the bedposts.
“Pah! We do not fight with women,” said one of the deputies who had not spoken before. “Citizens, let us call up the guard!”
“Do not do that!” said Madame Élisabeth, “in the name of Heaven, do not do that! We must submit to forcible demands, but grant us at least time to prepare ourselves. This poor child needs his sleep, and he will not be able to sleep anywhere but here. Let him at least spend the night in this room, and he shall be delivered into your hands early in the morning.”
To this touching appeal there was no reply.