At last, on the thirteenth of July, through the assistance of Tison, who, at first a bitter enemy, had since changed and become friendly to her, she succeeded in obtaining a sight of her poor little son. But alas! this happiness, so long yearned for, so besought from Heaven, was granted her only to her sorrow. The little Prince indeed passed before the eyes of his mother, who bent her anxious, searching gaze upon him. He had laid aside the mourning for his father; the red cap was on his head, his brutal jailer beside him. Unluckily, moreover, just at that moment Simon fell into one of the outbursts of fury that usually vented themselves upon his wretched charge. The poor Queen, struck by this terrible sight as if by lightning, grasped her sister-in-law for support, and both quickly drew the Princess Marie Thérèse away from their place of concealment (whither she had hastened for a glimpse of her brother), at the same time reassuring themselves by a glance that she had seen nothing and remained in blissful ignorance of the Dauphin’s fate. “It is useless to wait any longer,” said the Queen; “he will not come now.” After a few moments, her tears began to flow; she turned away to hide them, and came back again, hoping for another sight of her son. A little later she did see him again. He passed by in silence, with bowed head; his tyrant was no longer cursing him. She heard no words, but this silence was almost as terrible to her as Simon’s invectives. Mute and motionless, she remained as if rooted to the spot till Tison came for her. “Oh, God!” she cried bitterly to him, “you have been deceiving me!” “No, madame,” he replied; “I merely did not tell you everything, so you would not be troubled. But now that you know all, in the future I will conceal nothing from you that I may chance to discover.”