"But Justice is a woman, and she is unshakable," cried Simon emphatically, and as his wife continued to contradict, Simon proposed a bet. The wager was, that if the Queen of France should be guillotined the next noon, the one who lost should furnish brandy and cakes the next evening for a jollification.
The next morning Simon repaired with the little prisoner to the platform of the tower, from which there was a free lookout over the streets, and where they could plainly see what was going on below.
His wife meanwhile had left the Temple at early dawn with her dreadful knitting-work. "I must be on the spot early if I want a good place to-day," she said, "and it would be a real misfortune for me, if I should not see the miserable head of the she-wolf drop, and not make a double stitch in my stocking."
"But you forget, Jeanne Marie," said Simon, with a grin, "you forget that you lose your bet if you make the mark in your stocking."
"I would rather lose all the bets that were ever made than not make the mark in my stocking," cried the knitter, grimly. "I would rather lose my wedding-dress and my marriage-ring than win this bet. Go up to the platform with the young wolf, and wait for me there. As soon as I have made the mark in my stocking, I will run home and show it to you."
"It is too bad that I cannot go with you," said Simon, sighing. "I wish I had never undertaken the business of bringing up the little Capet. It is hateful work, for I can never leave the Temple, and I am just as much a prisoner as he is."
"The republic has done you a great honor," said the knitter, solemnly. "She has confidence that you will make out of the son of the she-wolf, out of the worthless scion of tyrants, a son of the republic, a useful citizen."
"Good talk," growled Simon, "and you have only the honor of the affair, and the satisfaction besides of plaguing the son of our tyrants a bit."
"Of taking revenge," struck in the knitter—"revenge for the misery which my family has suffered from the tyrants."
"But I," continued Simon, "I have certainly the honor of the thing, but I have also the burden. In the first place, it is very hard to make a strong and useful citizen, of the republic out of this whining, tender, and sensitive urchin. And then again it is very unpleasant and disagreeable to have to live like a prisoner always."