“De Witt sent you, and vouches for your faithfulness,” said Louis, more embarrassed than his visitor; for at times he was rather ashamed of his passion for mechanics. The locksmith bowed, and his eyes turned on the lock which had been taken apart, but all the genius of the king had failed to put it together again. “You see that I have only the power to do mischief,” said Louis, smiling pleasantly. “So the people of France have been bold enough to say,” was the prompt answer. Louis frowned at this bold reply; but directly his brow cleared, and he looked earnestly into the man’s face, as if questioning that instead of his words. “The people of France know but little of their king,” he said, gravely; “but let us to our work.” The man again bent his head, and took up the disjointed lock, which was, in fact, a new invention, full of complications. “Yes,” he said, “this is after De Witt’s plan. I have seen it before; but here is something I do not understand.” “Ah!” said Louis, coloring a little, “that is my own improvement.” The locksmith smiled, examined the new complication well, and nodded his head in approval. “This is really an improvement—but it fits ill; a free use of the file, and a screw here, will make the thing perfect.” The man reached out his hand for a file; but Louis had already flung off his coat again, and was fastening a bolt into the vise. “Give me the file, I see what is lacking,” he said, eagerly. “So you like the improvement. De Witt may not be of your opinion. He is not willing that the king should be considered so good a craftsman as himself. This lock is for the queen’s chamber. I shall present it to her myself when it is complete.” “It will be safe and strong,” said the workman; “delicate, too, for the metal is of the best. I put one upon a dungeon of the Bastille after the same pattern, lacking the royal improvement; but that was of ponderous iron, which is by this time thick with rust.” The king started as the Bastille was so suddenly mentioned, and, holding his file in suspense, looked steadily at his strange instructor. “You have been in the Bastille, then?” “Yes, sire; more than once.” “And you have been in the dungeons?” “Almost every one of them.” “And what did you see there?” “Souls in torment—some of them innocent.” “You are a bold man,” said Louis, after a brief pause. “Because I am a true one!” “And so our commissioners should be; but they give no such report.” “There it is,” cried the locksmith, with sudden warmth. “There is no one to report the wrongs of the people. The ministers are deaf to them; the king hears them when their cries have been smothered by commissioners—owned by these men. Ah, sire! if you could once go among your subjects, see and hear them as I do, France might yet be saved.” CHAPTER XVII. THE KING AND THE WORKMAN.