Marie Antoinette in her last prison, however, was not without pitying friends. The fierce communists ordered that she should drink the water of the Seine, drawn as it flowed past her prison-walls; but an honest couple, named Bault, obtained the posts of chief gaolers at the Conciergerie, in the full aim of assuaging the Queen’s wretchedness. Instead of Seine water, the poor prisoner found daily in her cell refreshing draughts of water drawn from that well at Versailles which was the Queen’s chief cellar. She was a great water drinker. Madame Bault, to affect harshness, never entered the Princess’s cell, asserting that to do so was to be contaminated. The royal tradespeople of former days—especially the fruit-women—brought little offerings secretly; and so it came about that the Queen, in her last prison and days, ate such pure, simple meals as those which had been her favorite food in the old days—a piece of melon, a handful of figs, a little bread and a glass of water from her favorite well. The two gowns which the Queen possessed—one white, the other black,—and which she wore alternately, soon fell to pieces in the damp prison. Her underclothing was always damp when put on, and often her shoes would be completely wet; for between her and the river there was only the part protection of a wall. Human nature demands some work. Not allowed writing or sewing materials (Bault’s daughter mended the Queen’s tatters, and gave away the little fragments which she cut away in the process as relics of the poor lady), with a pin she scratched her thoughts upon the driest portion of the walls of her prison. After her death many of these sentences were copied by one of the commissioners. They were mostly German and Italian verses bearing reference to her fate, and little Latin verses from the Psalms. No French did she use, for she had been brought into the land where that language was spoken to be cast into prison, and to suffer death. The drier walls were covered with these mute appeals. Some idea may be gained of the cruelty exercised towards the desolate prisoner, when she, asking for a lighter coverlet, and Bault forwarding the request to a high authority, the latter received this reply:— “Take care! Another sign of sympathy such as that, and you will visit the guillotine before she does!” Another shape of industry did the poor Queen find. She wished to leave her daughter a memento of her last days, and she had nothing to give; so she converted a couple of bone toothpicks into knitting needles, pulled some worsted shreds from the heavy old coverlet which they refused to replace with a lighter, and knitted a—garter. This she, dropped near the friendly Bault, who, with the heart of a father, understanding the poor little bit of workmanship, let fall his handkerchief, and so possessed himself of the little treasure. After her death the tribute reached the young Princess for whom it was worked—truly a message from the grave.