It being ordered that more bolts should be placed upon the doors of the tower in which the King was imprisoned, the mason employed to sink the holes in the stone-work into which the bolts were to run, going to a meal, and leaving his work tools upon the ground, the King took up a chisel, and began laboring at the means taken to strengthen his prison. The mason recognised the King at this labor. “Ah,” said he “when you leave this place, you will be able to say you worked at your own prison.” “And how shall I leave it?” asked the King, who suddenly drew his son towards him, and retired to his cell, where he paced up and down a long while. The watch was intense. Every loaf of bread sent to the royal table was searched and broken, the fruit—the very kernel of a peach, upon one occasion split to find a letter. A deputation arriving, asked the King whether he lacked anything. “Yes,” he said; “my wife and family want clothes—you see we are in rags.” Meanwhile, the King’s cousin, the Duke of Orleans, who had become a Republican under the name of Citizen Philip Equality, uttered no word in favor of his royal cousin languishing in the Temple. Another misfortune now fell upon the King. It will be remembered how fond the King was of lock-making. His master in the art, one Gamain, had loved the King dearly, but he turned upon the fallen monarch. It appears that prior to quitting the Tuileries, the King, being desirous of hiding certain treasures, and especially certain papers received from abroad, relative to the schemes in progress for helping the King by the invasion of France, he had worked with this blacksmith at the formation of a hiding-place in the walls of the palace for the iron box, which contained these papers and valuables. After the arrest of the King, Gamain fell ill of a slow consuming illness, probably low fever, when gradually he convinced himself that a certain glass of water the King had himself handed the locksmith, while they were both putting the finishing strokes to the hiding-place, was poisoned, and that the King’s motive was a conviction that the secret of these State papers could only be safe through his, the blacksmith’s, death. This man must surely have been overpowered by delirium when such a conviction took possession of him. His illness continuing, the thought of revenge took possession of him; and finally, he denounced the whole affair to the Convention. This act did more to send the King to the scaffold than any other process executed against Louis XVI. In the first place, the theory of the poison was at once accepted, and it appeared necessarily very feasible to a multitude ignorant of the question of poisons; and, in the second, no proof could be brought against Louis of conspiring with a foreign Power to invade France; an act which was treason—therefore one which, proved, called for the penalty of death.