"He does not look like the king's son," whispered Jeanne Marie, after a long, searching study of the pale, bloated face of the idiot.
"We will put his clothes on at once, then he will look all right, for clothes make the man. Stand up, little one, you need to get up.
You are not to stay any longer in your curious prison."
"He does not understand you," said Jeanne Marie. "Do not you remember that Toulan told us that the boy is perfectly deaf and dumb?"
"True; I had forgotten it, and yet it is fortunate for us, for a deaf and dumb person cannot disclose any dangerous secrets. Come, Jeanne Marie, give me the clothes; we will dress up the little mute like a prince."
They put upon him the velvet jacket, the short trowsers of black cloth, the shoes and stockings of the prince, who still was looking out of his basket at the pale, softly-moaning child, which was now placed by Simon and his wife on the mattress.
"There," said Simon, throwing the coverlet over the boy, "there, the royal prince is ready, and we can say, as they used to do at St.
Denis, when they brought a new occupant into the royal vault, 'Le roi est mort, vive le roi! ' Lie quietly in your basket, Capet, for you see you are deposed, and your successor has your throne."
"Master," whispered Louis, anxiously and timidly, "master, may I ask you a question?"
"Well, yes, you may, you little nameless toad. What is it?"
"Master, will the sick child have to die, if I am saved?"
"What do you mean, youngster? What are you at?"
"I only mean, master--I only wanted to say that if the poor boy must die, if he takes my place, why--I should rather stay here. For--"
"Well, go on, stupid! what do you mean by your 'for?' You would rather remain here?"
"Yes, master, if another is to die and be beaten and tortured, for blows hurt so much, and I should not like to have another boy receive them instead of me. That would be wicked in me, and--"
"And you are a stupid fellow, and do not know any thing you are talking about," said Simon, shaking his fist at him. " Just put on airs, and speak another such a foolish word, and I will not only beat you to death, but I will beat this miserable, whining youngster to death too, and then you will certainly be to blame for it. Down with you into the basket, and if you venture to put your head up again, and if to-morrow you are not obedient and do just what we bid you, I will beat you and him, both of you, to pieces, and pack you into the clothes-basket, and carry you away. Down into the basket!"
The boy sank down out of sight; and when, after a little while, Jeanne Marie cautiously looked to see whether he had fallen asleep, she saw that Louis Charles was kneeling on the bottom of the basket, and raising his folded hands up to heaven.
"Simon," she whispered--" Simon, do not laugh at me and scold me.
You say, I know, that there is no God, and the republic has done away with Deity, and the Church, and the priests. But let me once kneel down and pray to Him with whom little Louis Charles is talking now, and to whom the Austrian spoke on the scaffold."
Without waiting for Simon's answer, Jeanne Marie sank upon her knees. Folding her hands, she leaned her forehead on the rim of the basket, and softly whispered, "Louis Charles, do you hear me?"
"Yes," lisped the child, "I hear you."
"I ask your forgiveness," whispered Jeanne Marie. "I have sinned dreadfully against you, but remorse has taken hold of my heart, and tears it in pieces and gives me no rest day or night. Oh, forgive me, son of the queen, and when you pray, implore your mother to forgive me the evil that I have done her."
"I will pray to my dear mamma queen for you, and I know she will forgive you, for she was so very good, and she always said to me that we must forgive our enemies; and I had to swear to my dear papa that I would forget and forgive all the wrong that men should do to me. And so I forgive you, and I will forget all the bad things that Master Simon has done to me, for my papa and my mamma wished me to."
Jeanne Marie let her head sink lower, and pressed her hands firmly against her lips to repress the outcries which her remorseful conscience prompted. Simon seemed to understand nothing of this soft whispering; he was busily engaged in packing up his things, and no one saw him hastily draw his hand over his eyes, as if he wanted to wipe away the dust which suddenly prevented his seeing.
Gradually it grew still in the gloomy room. The whispering in the basket ceased. Jeanne Marie had retired to her bed, and had wept herself to sleep. Upon the mattress lay the sick, sobbing child, the substitute of King Louis XVII., who was in the basket.
Simon was the only one who was awake, and there must have been dismal thoughts that busied him. He sat upon the stool near the candle, which was nearly burned out, his forehead was corrugated and clouded, his lips were closely pressed together, and the little, flashing eyes looked out into the empty space full of anger and threatenings.
"It must be," he muttered at last, "it must be. I should otherwise not have a moment's peace, and always feel the knife at my throat.
One of us must be away from here, in order that he may disclose the other. I will not be that one, it must be Toulan."
He stood up with the air of one who had made a fixed, unchangeable resolve, and stretched his bony, crooked limbs. Then he threw one last look at the stranger-child, that lay moaning and groaning on his mattress, fell upon his bed, and soon his long-drawn, sonorous breathing disclosed the fact that Master Simon was asleep.
