d
to the wants of this child, who stood there now before him, a cap on his
yellow hair, and his shoulder held up to his ear with that gesture
of careless indifference peculiar to children when they are sullen or
uncared for.

Obediently, quite mechanically it seemed, the boy trod on the flag which
Henri IV had borne before him at Ivry, and le Roi Soleil had flaunted in
the face of the armies of Europe. The son of the Bourbons was spitting
on their flag, and wiping his shoes upon its tattered folds. With shrill
cracked voice he sang the Carmagnole, "Ca ira! ca ira! les aristos a la
lanterne!" until de Batz himself felt inclined to stop his ears and to
rush from the place in horror.

Louis XVII, whom the hearts of many had proclaimed King of France by the
grace of God, the child of the Bourbons, the eldest son of the Church,
was stepping a vulgar dance over the flag of St. Louis, which he had
been taught to defile. His pale cheeks glowed as he danced, his eyes
shone with the unnatural light kindled in them by the intoxicating
liquor; with one slender hand he waved the red cap with the tricolour
cockade, and shouted "Vive la Republique!"

Madame Simon was clapping her hands, looking on the child with obvious
pride, and a kind of rough maternal affection. Simon was gazing on
Heron for approval, and the latter nodded his bead, murmuring words of
encouragement and of praise.

"Thy catechism now, Capet--thy catechism," shouted Simon in a hoarse
voice.

The boy stood at attention, cap on head, hands on his hips, legs wide
apart, and feet firmly planted on the fleur-de-lys, the glory of his
forefathers.

"Thy name?" queried Simon.

"Louis Capet," replied the child in a clear, high-pitched voice.

"What art thou?"

"A citizen of the Republic of France."

"What was thy father?"

"Louis Capet, ci-devant king, a tyrant who perished by the will of the
people!"

"What was thy mother?"

"A ----"

De Batz involuntarily uttered a cry of horror. Whatever the man's
private character was, he had been born a gentleman, and his every
instinct revolted against what he saw and heard. The scene had
positively sickened him. He turned precipitately towards the door.

"How now, citizen?" queried the Committee's agent with a sneer. "Are you
not satisfied with what you see?"

"Mayhap the citizen would like to see Capet sitting in a golden chair,"
interposed Simon the cobbler with a sneer, "and me and my wife kneeling
and kissi