The King again asked for news of his family, and a reply not forthcoming, he entreated that he might have some books given him to drive away the hours. The Queen had passed the night in a series of fainting-fits; but, even at that pass, that far higher spirit than the King’s, which had begotten her so much of the popular hate, still supported her. The King, though weeping, could eat half the morsel of bread—she resolutely refused to touch food. This determination startled the municipals. They were answerable to the Convention for the prisoners. What if the Queen should starve herself to death? “Well, they shall dine together to-day,” said a municipal officer; “and to-morrow the Commune must decide.” The Queen, holding her children in her arms, flung herself upon her knees, and began rapidly praying—so also did Elizabeth. “I believe,” said the brutal Simon, “that these confounded women are even making _me_ weep! Bah!” he added, turning to the Queen; “you did not let tears fall when you caused the people to be assassinated, on the 10th of August!” “I never harmed a human being,” said the Queen. The Commune decreed that the family should take their meals together. The members knew somewhat of Marie Antoinette’s determination, and they found that, if separated from her husband, she really would die from inanition, it has to be recorded that the reunion of the King and Queen, during the last four months of their lives, was due, not to the pity, but the fear, of their gaolers. But they only met at meals, and then they were compelled to speak French only, and in a loud voice. The children were never again allowed play about their father. This family was killed by inches. Their hearts were dead before the knife of the guillotine mercifully released them. Cléry took pity upon them, and, at the risk of his own liberty and life, forwarded, by his wife, who was allowed to come and see him once a week, a line of farewell to this or that friend, from the King and Queen. These adieux, some of which still exist, are written with the stump of a pencil, upon the margins of printed pages, and which were torn from books. The King’s cell was, in a few days, set in something like order; but, with a refinement of cruelty beyond description, the walls were hung with a paper representing the interior life of prisons.