“The Queen had scarcely strength sufficient left to undress my brother and put him to bed. She herself lay down in her clothes, and all night long we could hear her shivering with cold and anguish.” The King had promised to see them again in the morning, but he deemed it better not to expose them to the further ordeal. The beat of the drums and the shouts of the people told them that all was over. “Nothing succeeded in calming the anguish of my mother,” writes Madame Royale; “life or death had become indifferent to her. She sometimes gazed at us with a piteously forlorn air that made us shudder. Happily my own illness was increased by sorrow, and this gave my poor mother some occupation.” Marie Antoinette was unwilling to walk in the garden of the Temple after her husband’s death, for in so doing she was obliged to pass the door of the room where he had been confined. Afraid, however, that the want of air would tell on her children’s health, she obtained leave to walk with them on the top of the Tower. The platform was, however, surrounded with lattice work, and the air-holes were carefully stopped. The Queen asked to have a door opened between her room and that of Madame Elizabeth, but this request, after being referred to the Council General, was refused. At all hours—sometimes in the dead of night—their rooms were invaded by the municipals, or by commissaries of the convention, often intoxicated, who rudely searched every corner, and took away whatever little trifles they could find. “They searched even beneath our mattresses,” says Madame Royale, on one occasion; “my poor brother was sleeping. They tore him roughly from his bed that they might search it, and my mother held him in her arms, quite benumbed with cold.” In the beginning of July the Convention ordered that the Dauphin should be separated from his mother, and committed to the guardianship of Simon, the shoemaker, in another part of the Tower. A terrible scene ensued when this decree was communicated to the hapless prisoners. The poor boy—he was only eight years old—threw himself with cries of terror into his mother’s arms for protection, and Marie Antoinette for more than an hour defended the bed on which she laid him against the municipal officers, protesting that they should kill her before they should take away her child. “At length they grew enraged, and threatened so positively to kill both him and me, that her love for us once more compelled her to yield. My aunt and I took my brother out of bed, as my mother herself had no strength left; and, as soon as he was dressed, she took him in her arms, and, after bathing him in her tears, which were the more bitter as she foresaw that it was the last time she should ever see him, she placed him herself in the hands of the municipal officers.” The mother’s cup of sorrows was nearly full. Madame Royale thus pictures the days that followed:—