“The winter passed with tolerable tranquillity,” writes the princess, “and I had reason to be satisfied with the civility of my keepers. They offered to make my fire, and allowed me as much wood as I wished, which was a source of great comfort to me. They also brought me the books I asked for; Laurent had already procured me some. The greatest distress I had was in not being able to learn anything respecting my mother or my aunt.” The course of the spring of 1795 was marked only by the gradual fading away of the Dauphin. The Committee of General Safety sent physicians at last, and fresh keepers strove by their kindness to compensate in some feeble measure for the past cruelties he had endured, but it was too late. He grew weaker and weaker, then fever set in, which he had no strength to resist, and he died on the 9th of June. The poor child was only a little over ten years old. With the death of her brother, Madame Royale’s memoirs come to a conclusion, but we learn from other sources what followed. The Government seem to have felt they had gone too far. A feeling of pity for “the daughter of the last King” began to be awakened. A petition was presented from the City of Orleans, urging that she should be restored to freedom, and negotiations were set on foot which had in view an exchange of the princess for some prisoners in the custody of the Austrian Government. Meanwhile Madame Royale was treated with much greater consideration, and a lady, Madame de Chantereine, was appointed to attend on her. Above all her old friends, Madame de Tourzel, and her daughter, Pauline, and Madame de Mackan, former sub-governess to the children of France, were, after some difficulty, allowed to visit the Temple. Madame de Tourzel, in her memoirs, has left us many details of their first meeting. [Illustration: THE PARTING.] They had left the princess feeble and delicate, and were surprised to find her beautiful, tall, and strong, and with that air of distinction which was her peculiar characteristic, while they traced in her the features of the King, the Queen, and even of Madame Elizabeth. She had much to tell them of all three, and they drew from her many touching particulars of her solitary captivity. She confessed she had grown so weary of her profound solitude, that she had said to herself that she should not be able to keep from loving any companion they might give her short of a monster. When Madame de Tourzel expressed a hope that she might be allowed to leave France, Madame Royale answered sadly “that she still found some comfort in dwelling in a country which held the ashes of those who had been dearest to her in the world.” And, she added with a burst of tears, that “she would have been much happier if she could have shared their fate instead of being condemned to weep for them.” No single expression of bitterness, however, escaped from her.