The upper windows of the house overlooking the prison were now the only consolation left to the unhappy royal captives. But that comprehensive freemasonry of misery with which we are all somewhat acquainted, the friends of the fallen family, who were still at liberty, took the upper rooms, from which they could see their King and his family. The captives soon learnt, by almost indescribable signs, the windows which were friendly to them. This one would show a white flower; from another, a hand would be waved; and now and again a placard would be raised for a moment. On the 24th of September, the King, having fallen asleep after dinner, was aroused by a great tumult in the street, below his window. It was the people declaring the abolition of royalty, and the declaration of a republic. “My kingdom,” he said to the Queen, “has passed away like a dream, and it has not been a happy dream. God gave it me, and the people take it away. I pray that France may be happy.” On the evening of the same day, one of his gaolers asked the King brutally, if he knew that he was living in a republic. “I have heard it,” he replied; “and I have prayed that the republic may deal justly with my country. I have never placed myself between the people and their happiness.” So far, the King had been allowed to wear his sword and his heraldic orders. “You must know,” said his gaoler, “that the republic has suppressed these baubles; so take them off. You are now but a citizen, as we are, and must be as we are; yet, what you want, ask the republic for, and you shall not be denied.” “I thank you,” said the King calmly. “I want for nothing.” Very calmly, he continued his interrupted reading. Amongst the books he read at this time were “The Life and death of Charles I, of England,” and the “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.” The Convention, however, had not behaved illiberally to the captives. The members assigned twenty thousand pounds to their use; but very little was really expended in the direction it was intended to go. The royal family were wretchedly off for clothes. They had borrowed here and there; and the Queen herself employed many hours daily in mending and patching the clothes of the family, which had been much torn during the day which ended in the imprisonment of Louis and his family in the Temple. The English ambassador, in fact, was the chief donor of the clothes which enabled the royal family to be the possessors of a mere change of linen. It is said that the wretched gaolers vied with each other in making the fallen captives shed tears. That man who succeeded was envied by his comrades. Well has it been said that the success of a revolution which was the result of generations of misgovernment, had fallen heavily upon those royal personages who had least helped to produce the national hate of royalty, while that victory had of itself driven the vanquishing people into madness.