At seven, he was to have his last interview with his family; and as this moment approached, he appeared to dread it far more than the thought of the scaffold. He was unwilling that so great an agony as this parting must necessarily be, should trouble the calmness of his death, which, obviously, he looked upon in the light of a sacrifice. The Queen and princesses had the news by this time, for the street criers bawled the fact of the next day’s execution of the King under the very windows of the Temple tower. All hope was dead; and the only sentiment which swayed them was this: would the King be prevented from taking a last good-bye—would he be prevented from kissing them, and blessing them, before he went forth to die? One last word—one last kiss!—this was now the boundary of the wishes of the once brilliant Marie Antoinette, one of the proudest princesses, and, as a wife, one of the greatest martyrs, the world has yet seen. At last the members of his family were told that they were to see the King prior to his execution. And this was their joy in the midst of a desolation from which their only relief was death itself. The poor creatures prepared for this interview hours before it could take place. They asked incessantly of their gaoler if it was time for the King’s arrival, and bore patiently with the rough, rude answer only too frequently bestowed upon them. The King himself, though apparently more calm, was equally agitated. He had never experienced but one affection—that for his wife; but one friendship—his sister’s; but one joy—his children. The cares of the throne may have hidden much of these qualities, but never extinguished them; and, in his adversity, they had flowed back in the shape of a wealth of consolation. Nevertheless, the King’s calmness, almost callousness, appears amazing in its contemplation. Re-entering the ordinary room, or cell, in which he passed his imprisoned days, he began to set in order to receive the Queen. “Bring some water, and a glass.” Cléry pointed to a caraffe standing on the table. “No,” said the King; “it is iced; and I fear, if the Queen drinks it, that it may disagree with her.” The door, at last, was thrown open, and the Queen, leading her son, threw herself into his arms, and was about to lead him to her chamber. “No, no,” whispered the King; “I may only see you here.” Madame Elizabeth followed, leading the Princess Royal. Cléry closed the door upon the family; and, for the first and last time since their return to Paris from Varennes, they were _unwatched_. The King was almost dead, and dead men can do no harm, even to revolutionary authorities. The King gently forced his wife to sit on his right, while his sister he placed on his left; and, as he sat down between them, they put each an arm about his neck, and laid their heads above the heart which, in a few hours, was to cease heating. The Dauphin was on his father’s knee, while the little daughter’s head lay in her father’s lap.