"Amen, amen," whispered all present.
"Amen," said the king, closing with gentle pressure the open eyes of his son. "God has taken you to Himself, my son, perhaps because He wanted to preserve you from much trouble and sorrow. Blessed be His name!"
But the queen still bowed over the cold face of the child, and kissed his lips. "Farewell, my son," she whispered, "farewell! Ah!, why could I not die with you—with you fly from this pitiful, sorrow-stricken world?"
Then, as if the queen regretted the words which the mother had spoken with sighs, Marie Antoinette rose from her knees and turned to the priest, who was sprinkling the corpse of the dauphin with holy water.
"Father," said she, "the children of poor parents, who may be born to-day in Versailles, are each to receive from me the sum of a thousand francs. I wish that the death-bed of my son may be a day of joy for the poor who have not, like me, lost a child, but gained one, and that the lips of happy mothers may bless the day on which my boy died. Have the goodness to bring me to-morrow morning a list of the children born to-day."
"Come, Marie," said the king, "the body of our son belongs no more to the living, but to the grave of out ancestors in St. Denis; his soul to God. The dauphin is dead! Long live the dauphin! Madame de Polignac, conduct the dauphin to us in the cabinet of his mother."
And with the proud and dignified bearing which was peculiar to the king in great and momentous epochs, he extended his arm to the queen and conducted her out of the death-chamber, and through the adjacent apartments, to her cabinet.
"Ah!" cried the queen, "here we are alone; here I can weep for my poor lost child."
And she threw her arms around the neck of her husband, and, leaning her head upon his breast, wept aloud.
The king pressed her closely to his heart, and the tears which flowed from his own eyes fell in hot drops upon the head of the queen.