The next morning the cobbler seemed to have repented of his weakness. He procured an account of the _fête_ of the preceding day, and forced the boy to stand and listen while he read it aloud. The Prince obeyed; but at one part, which contained a gross insult to his father, he could no longer control his rebellious feelings, and retired to one of the window recesses to hide his face and his tears. Simon hurried after him, dragged him roughly back by the hair to the table, and ordered him, under pain of a beating, to stand there and listen quietly and attentively. Then he resumed his reading, and laid particular emphasis on the words: “Let us swear to defend the Constitution unto death; the Republic shall live forever!” “Do you hear that, Capet?” he shouted; “the Republic shall live forever!” The child made no reply, and did not even raise his head; his face was hidden in his hands. “You cursed young wolf!” roared Simon, choking with passion, “yesterday you would not shout ‘Vive la Republique!’ but you see now, blockhead, that the Republic shall live forever! You _shall_ say with us, ‘The Republic shall live forever!’” As he spoke, he seized the Dauphin by both shoulders and shook him with all his strength, as if to force the words from his mouth. After exhausting his fury, the cobbler paced up and down the floor for some time, then stopped beside the bed of the weeping child and said gruffly: “It is your own fault, fool; you well deserved your treatment.” “Let him alone, Simon,” said his wife; “he is blind, the little one. He was brought up on lies and deception, and knows no better.” And, somewhat disconcerted, the cobbler turned away. Not long after this, the police scattered through the streets of the city low songs and scurrilous rhymes against the “Austrian she-wolf,” as the unfortunate Marie Antoinette was called, and Simon procured some of these sheets. “Come, Capet,” said he one day to the little Prince, holding out to him some abominable verses about his mother, “here is a new song you must sing for me.” The boy glanced at the song, and threw it indignantly on the table. Simon immediately flew into a rage, and said threateningly: “I believe I said you should sing, and you shall sing!” “I will never sing such a song as that!” replied the boy, with a firm determination against which the cobbler’s rage was powerless. “I tell you, I will strike you dead if you do not sing!” he shouted, seizing an iron grating from the chimney-place. “Never!” retorted the Prince, and the furious brute actually hurled the heavy iron at the boy’s head, and would certainly have killed him if he had not been quick enough to dodge the missile.