Madame Tison, who had been listening at the door, heard these words, or at least the sound of the Queen’s voice. Devoid of respect for a sorrow that must find relief in words or become unbearable, the heartless woman knocked on the door and harshly demanded the cause of this nocturnal conversation. As if this were not enough, her husband and some municipal guards even opened the door and attempted to force their way into the room, when Madame Élisabeth, turning her pale face toward them, said with quiet dignity: “I pray you, allow us at least to weep in peace!” These simple words, spoken in such a tone, disarmed even these wretches. They drew back in confusion, and did not venture again to intrude on the sanctity of so profound a grief. The next morning the Queen took her son in her arms and said to him: “My child, we must put our trust in the dear God!” “Oh, yes, mamma,” answered the little Prince, “I do trust the dear God, but whenever I fold my hands and try to pray, the image of my father comes before my eyes.” Sadly and wearily the days passed. Weakened by sorrow and exhausted by sleepless nights, the Queen almost succumbed to her troubles, and seemed to be indifferent whether she lived or died. Sometimes her companions would find her eyes fixed on them with such an expression of profound pity, it almost made them shudder. A deathly stillness prevailed; they all seemed to be holding their breaths, save when their grief found vent in half-smothered sobs or paroxysms of tears. It was almost a boon to the wretched women when the Princess Marie Thérèse really fell ill. In the duties of a mother, Marie Antoinette found some mitigation of her grief for the loss of her husband. She spent all her time at her daughter’s bedside, and the care and anxiety afforded her a wholesome distraction and roused her benumbed faculties. The Princess soon recovered from her illness, and from that time the Queen devoted herself wholly to her children. The little Dauphin sang very sweetly, and his mother found much pleasure in teaching him little songs, but especially in having him continue the studies he had begun. Thus absorbed, she even thanked Heaven for the peace granted her by her enemies, which enabled her to perform these maternal tasks. Madame Élisabeth was her devoted assistant, and their love for the children afforded them some relief from sorrows which were constantly being sharpened by fresh trials. But even this last faint semblance of happiness was at last taken from them. Some faithful friends of the Queen and the royal house, brave, noble hearts who gladly risked their lives in the hope of rescuing the prisoners from the shameful brutalities of their jailers, had devised a plan for their escape. Owing to an unlucky combination of circumstances, the attempt failed, and the tyrants of the Convention, who then held despotic sway over wretched France, issued the following decree: