Marie Antoinette and Her Son

by L. Mühlbach

"What kind of a dagger?" cried Simon, rushing to the bed and taking the convulsed form of his wife in his arms.

"Hush!" whispered the doctor, who also had gone to the bed of the sick woman—"hush! she is speaking in her fever, and the dagger of which she talks she feels in her heart and conscience. You must spare her, citizen, if you do not want her to die. Every thing must be quiet around her, and you must be very careful not to agitate her nerves, lest she have an acute typhoid fever. I will send her some cooling medicine at once, and to-morrow morning I will come early to see how it fares with her. But, above every thing else, Simon, remember to have quiet, that your good wife may get well again."

"Who would have told me two weeks ago that Jeanne Marie had nerves?" growled Simon. "The first knitter of the guillotine, and now all at once nerves and tears, but I must be careful of her. For it would be too bad if she should die and leave me all alone with this tedious youngster. I could not hold out. I should run away. Go, Capet, get into your room, and do not get in my way again to-day, else I will strangle you before you can make a sound. Come, scud, clear, and do not let me see you again, if your life is worth any thing to you."

The child stole into his room again, sat down upon the floor, folded his little hands in one another, fixed his great blue eyes on the ceiling above, and held his breath to listen to every little sound, every footfall that came from the room above.

All at once he heard plainly the steps of some one walking up and down, and a pleased smile flitted across the face of the boy.

"That is certainly my dear mamma," he whispered to himself. "Yes, yes, it is my mamma queen, and she is taking her walk in the sitting-room, just as she has done since she has not been allowed to go out upon the platform. Oh, mamma, my dear mamma, I love you so much!"

And the child threw a kiss up to the ceiling, not knowing that she to whom he sent his greeting had long been resting in the silent grave, and that with the very hand which was throwing kisses to her, he had himself signed the paper which heaped upon his mother the most frightful calumnies.

Even Simon had not had the cruel courage to tell the boy of the death of his mother, and of the unconscious wrong that he, poor child, had done to her memory, and in his silent chamber his longing thoughts of her were his only consolation.

And so he sat there that day looking up to the ceiling, greeting his dear mamma with his thoughts, and seeing her in spirit greeting him again, nodding affectionately to him and drawing her dear little Louis Charles to her arms.

These were the sweet, transporting fancies which made the child close his eyes so as not to lose them. Immovably he sat there, until gradually thoughts and dreams flowed into each other, and not only his will, but sleep as well, kept his eyes closed. But the dreams remained, and were sweet and refreshing, and displayed to the sleeping child, so harshly treated in his waking hours, only scenes of love and tenderness. And it was not his mother alone who embraced him in his happy slumbers; no, there were his aunt and his sister as well, and at last even—oh how strange dreams are!—at last he even saw Simon's wife advancing toward him with kindly and tender mien. She stooped down to him, took him up in her arms, kissed his eyes, and begged him in a low, trembling voice to forgive her for being so cruel and bad. And while she was speaking the tears streamed from her eyes and flowed over his face. She kissed them away with her hot lips, and whispered, "Forgive me, poor, unhappy angel, and do not bring me to judgment. I will treat you well after this, I will rescue you from this hell, or I will die for you. Oh, how the bad man has beaten your dear angel face! But believe me, I have felt every blow in my own heart, and when he treated you so abusively I felt the pain of hell. Oh, forgive me, dear boy, forgive me!" and again the tears started from her eyes and flowed hot over his locks and forehead. All at once Jeanne Marie quivered convulsively, laid the boy gently down, and ran hastily away. A door was furiously opened now, and Simon's loud and angry voice was heard.