It is said that for more than half an hour not a word was spoken; but the sudden bursts of grief, and especially the Queen’s frantic, terrific screams, were heard not only throughout the prison, but positively in many of the streets adjacent to the gaol. Yet nature is very good, and enables us to bear our trials by the force of physical weakness. But soon, indeed, the miserable family, their eyes exhausted of tears, were able to talk in low whispers, to console each other, and to give each other many agonized last embraces. This dread agony lasted through an hour and a half. The ex-royal family had been together two hours. Of those five unhappy people, only the little Princess, aged seven or eight, lived to tell in after years, what happened at that interview. They confided to each other what they had thought about during their separation; repeated promises over and over again to forget and forgive all their enemies, should either of them ever come to power; and, finally, sublime prayers, offered by the King, to the effect that he trusted his death might cause the nation the loss of not one drop of blood. The directions he gave his son (so soon to follow him into the grave) were not royal, but, better, they were Christian. Those who listened—miserable creatures—heard only a low, sweet murmur. At last the King rose. The moment had arrived. The Queen threw herself at the King’s feet, and entreated him to allow her and her children to remain with him all night. This request, in mercy, he would not grant; but warded off the request by gently intimating that he must have some hours’ tranquillity, in which to gain strength to die fittingly. He, however, promised his family that they should see him at eight in the morning. “Why not at seven?” asked the Queen. “Very well—at seven,” he replied. “You promise?” cried the women and children. He then led them to the door—they uttering louder cries as he did so. “Adieu, adieu!” he cried, in a voice equally yearning after passing-away love, and an expression of hope in the future. The poor little Princess here fell inanimate at her father’s feet. The attention the Queen now gave the child ameliorated the agony of that parting. The King availed himself of the heart-rending event to turn away. He closed the door, and the agony of royalty was ended. “Ah!” he cried, entering the turret, where the Abbé Edgeworth was awaiting him, “what a scene! Alas! why do I love so deeply—why am I so deeply loved?” He paused for a few moments; then he added, “But I have done with to-day—let me prepare for eternity.” At this point Cléry appeared, and asked the King to take some refreshment. Louis refused at first; but even at that ghastly pass his appetite asserted itself, and he ate and drank during five minutes—only bread and wine; and this he did standing, after the manner of a traveller hurrying on a journey. The priest now asked the King if he would like early in the morning to communicate.