“You are right, my Prince,” said the Abbé, surprised and touched by the boy’s remark, which showed so much affection for his mother. “Go on planting your flowers, and I hope they may thrive entirely to your satisfaction.”
“Oh, they are growing finely, M. Daveaux,” answered the Prince, proudly. “You will see what a large bunch I can pick in just a moment”; and with a zeal and energy inspired by his love for his mother he examined all the flowers in his little garden, selected the largest and freshest blossoms, and bound them into a bouquet which he arranged with much care and taste.
“Look, M. Abbé,” said he, holding out his nosegay with childish triumph, “do you not think my mother will be pleased with this? It makes me very unhappy when the weather is bad and I cannot work in my garden, for how can I be happy, M. Abbé, when I have not earned mamma’s first kiss with my bouquet? But now I must go and feed my rabbits, and then hurry to her with the flowers.”
In a corner of the garden there was a small enclosure walled in with bricks, where some pretty tame rabbits were kept by the Prince. They recognized him with evident pleasure, and came quickly at his call as he bountifully distributed among them fresh cabbage leaves and carrots provided for the purpose. After this visit to his pets, the Dauphin turned back toward the palace to make his usual morning call on his mother, but once more he was detained.
Before the iron railings that separated the garden from the open street stood a poor woman, who was gazing at the Prince with longing eyes, but had not ventured to address him. Perceiving instantly that she seemed to be in trouble, he approached her and asked kindly: “What is the matter, my good woman? Can I do anything for you?”
The woman burst into tears. “Oh, my Prince,” she stammered, “I am very poor and have a sick child at home,—it is a boy, my Prince, and just as old as you,—and he is waiting anxiously for my return. But I cannot bear to go back to him with empty hands!”
“Wait a moment,” replied the Prince, after he had convinced himself that the woman was really poor and needy. “I am going to see my mother, and will be back directly.”
With hasty steps he ran on, and disappeared in the palace; but in less than ten minutes he was back again with a beaming face.
“Here, my good woman,” he said in his gentle voice, as he handed her a bright new gold piece through the railings, “that is from my mother. And this,” he added, snatching one of the finest roses from his garden, “this is from me for your sick boy. I hope he will soon be well again”; and before the astonished woman could utter her thanks the little Dauphin had vanished again, hardly hearing the loud acclamations of the crowd which had gathered outside the palings and witnessed his generous deed.
At no time was the young Prince gayer or more charming than with his mother, whom he adored above all the world. As she did not wish his mind overtaxed with learning during his tender years, she taught him herself the rudiments of his education before giving him into the hands of his tutor, and nothing could equal the motherly care and solicitude she bestowed on the task. If the boy became weary, the Queen would seat herself at the piano or harp and play for him little melodies, full of expression, which she had either learned or composed herself, observing with pleasure that his ear was very sensitive to the charm of melody; or she would sometimes read to him fairy tales, fables, or stories from history, to which the little Prince listened with the liveliest interest. Every emotion aroused by these appeals to his imagination showed itself on his sensitive, animated features. Exclamations of wonder or excitement occasionally escaped him at the recital of stirring events or adventures which his mind could readily grasp; but whenever anything escaped his comprehension or was not clear to him, his brow clouded, and a stream of questions immediately followed. Nor was he satisfied until he fully understood. At such times he often astonished those about him with observations and reflections that awakened the liveliest hopes for the future of the royal child,—hopes unhappily doomed to be so soon blasted!