essential to his health, and tended him
so assiduously, that while the prisoner was partially restored, and
could walk about, the strength of his custodier broke down.

Under these circumstances he applied for an assistant, and citizen
Gomin was appointed to the duty. Citizen Gomin, the son of a
well-to-do upholsterer, had no desire to leave his father's shop to
become an under-jailer at the Temple; but his remonstrances were
silenced by the emissaries of the committee, and he was carried off at
once from his bench and his counter in a carriage which was waiting.
He was a kindly fellow, but prudent withal, and was so horrified when
he saw the condition of his charge, that he would have resigned if he
had not been afraid that by so doing he would become a suspect. As it
was he did his best to help Laurent, and by a happy thought, and with
the connivance of a good-hearted municipal, brought into the invalid's
room four little pots of flowers in full bloom. The sight of the
flowers and the undisguised mark of sympathy and affection did what
all previous kindness had failed to do--unlocked the fountains of a
long-sealed heart--and the child burst into tears. From that moment he
recognised Gomin as his friend, but days elapsed before he spoke to
him. When he did, his first remark was--"It was you who gave me some
flowers: I have not forgotten it."

Gomin and Laurent by-and-by came to be great favourites; but the
latter was compelled to resign his post through the urgency of his
private affairs, and he was replaced by a house-painter called Lasne,
who, like Gomin, was forced to abandon his own business at a moment's
notice. He proved equally good-natured with the other two, and like
them succeeded in gaining the friendship of the dauphin. As far as he
could, he lightened his captivity and tended him with the utmost care.
But no amount of kindliness could bring back strength to the wasted
frame, or even restore hope to the careful attendants. They sang to
him, talked with him, and gave him toys; but it was all in vain. In
the month of May, 1705, they became really alarmed, and informed the
government that the little Capet was dangerously ill. No attention
was paid to their report, and they wrote again, expressing a fear that
he would not live. After a delay of three days a physician came. He
considered him as attacked with the same scrofulous disorder of which
his brother had died at Meudon, and proposed his immediate remova