The evening of the 3d of July had come. The little prince had gone to bed, and had already sunk into a deep sleep. His bed had no curtains, but Marie Antoinette had with careful hands fastened a shawl to the wall, and spread it out over the bed in such a manner that the glare of the light did not fall upon the closed eyes of the child and disturb him in his peaceful slumbers. It was ten o'clock in the evening, and the ladies had that day waited unwontedly long before going to bed. The queen and Princess Elizabeth were busied in mending the clothing of the family, and Princess Theresa, sitting between the two, had been reading to them some chapters out of the Historical Dictionary. At the wish of the queen, she had now taken a religious book, Passion Week, and was reading some hymns and prayers out of it.
Suddenly, the quick steps of several men were heard in the corridor.
The bolts flew back, the doors were opened, and six officials came in.
"We are come," cried one of them, with a brutal voice, "to announce to you the order of the committee, that the son of Capet be separated from his mother and his family."
At these words the queen rose, pale with horror "They are going to take my child from me!" she cried. "No, no, that is not possible.
Gentlemen, the authorities cannot think of separating me from my son. He is still so young and weak, he needs my care."
"The committee has come to this determination," answered the official, "the Convention has confirmed it, and we shall carry it into execution directly."
"I cannot allow it," cried Marie Antoinette in desperation. "In the name of Heaven, I conjure you not to be so cruel!"
Elizabeth and Theresa mingled their tears with those of the mother.
All three had placed themselves before the bed of the dauphin; they clung to it, they folded their hands, they sobbed; the most touching cries, the most humble prayers trembled on their lips, but the guards were not at all moved.
"What is all this whining for?" they said. "No one is going to kill your child; give him to us of your own free will, or we shall have to take him by force."
They strode up to the bed. Marie Antoinette placed herself with extended arms before it, and held the curtain firmly; it however detached itself from the wall and fell upon the face of the dauphin.
He awoke, saw what was going on, and threw himself with loud shrieks into the arms of the queen. "Mamma, dear Mamma, do not leave me!"
She pressed him trembling to her bosom, quieted him, and defended him against the cruel hands that were reached out for him.
In vain, all in vain! The men of the republic have no compassion on the grief of a mother! "By free will or by force he must go with us."
"Then promise me at least that he shall remain in the tower of the Temple, that I may see him every day."
"We have nothing to promise you, we have no account at all to give you. Parbleu, how can you take on and howl so, merely because your child is taken from you? Our children have to do more than that.
They have every day to have their heads split open with the balls of the enemies that you have set upon them."
"My son is still too young to be able to serve his country," said the queen, gently, "but I hope that if God permits it, he will some day be proud to devote his life to Him."
Meanwhile the two princesses, urged on by the officials, had clothed the gasping, sobbing boy. The queen now saw that no more hope remained. She sank upon a chair, and summoning all her strength, she called the dauphin to herself, laid her hands upon his shoulders, and pale, immovable, with widely-opened eyes, whose burning lids were cooled by no tear, she gazed upon the quivering face of the boy, who had fixed his great blue eyes, swimming with tears, upon the countenance of his mother.