“The Committee of Public Safety orders that the son of Capet shall be separated from his mother and delivered into the hands of a governor, the choice of whom shall rest with the General Council of the Commune.” On the third of July, 1793, this cruel and infamous order was put into execution. It was almost ten o’clock on that evening; the little Prince was in bed and sleeping peacefully and soundly, with a smile on his pale but still lovely face. The bed had no curtains, but his mother had ingeniously arranged a shawl to keep the light from falling on his closed eyelids and disturbing his rest. The Queen, Madame Élisabeth, and the Princess Marie Thérèse were sitting up somewhat later than usual, the elder ladies busy with some mending and the Princess reading aloud to them. She had finished several chapters from some historical work, and now had a book of devotions called “Passion Week,” which Madame Élisabeth had succeeded in obtaining only a short time before. Whenever the Princess paused to turn a page, or at the end of a chapter in the history or of a psalm in the book of prayers, the Queen would raise her head, let her work fall in her lap, and gaze lovingly at the sleeping boy or listen to his quiet breathing. Suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps was heard on the stairs. The bolts were drawn with a rattle, the door opened, and six municipal guards entered. “We come,” said one of them roughly to the terrified Princesses, “to inform you that the Committee of Public Safety has ordered the son of Capet to be separated from his mother and his family.” The Queen started to her feet, struck to the heart by the suddenness of this blow. “Take my child away from me?” she cried, white with terror,—“no—no—it cannot be possible!” Marie Thérèse stood beside her mother trembling, while Madame Élisabeth, with both hands on the prayer-book, listened and looked on, paralyzed with terror and unable to stir. “Messieurs,” continued the Queen in a tremulous voice, and struggling to control the ague fit that shook her from head to foot, “it is impossible; the Council cannot think of such a thing as to separate me from my son! He is so young, he is so delicate—my care is so necessary to him! No—no—it cannot be!” “It is the decree of the Committee,” replied the officer harshly, unmoved by the deadly pallor of the Queen; “the Convention has decided on the measure, and we are sent to carry it into immediate execution.” “Oh, I can never submit to it!” cried the unhappy mother. “In the name of Heaven, I beseech you, do not demand this cruel sacrifice of me!”