Scenes like this were of daily occurrence in the cruel prison of the Temple. Simon left nothing undone to accomplish his terrible purpose and _rid the Convention_ of the unfortunate child. He kept his prisoner on an irregular diet, forcing him one day to eat and drink to excess, and the next leaving him to suffer from hunger. With diabolical calculation, he did everything possible to undermine the health of the Dauphin, and succeeded only too well. He gradually sickened, and an attack of fever helped to reduce his strength. He slowly recovered, it is true; but his old vigor of mind and body never returned. They took advantage of his illness to make him sign a deposition against his mother; and this false statement, extorted from him while he was too weak to resist, was used by the bloodthirsty Convention to bring the Queen’s head to the scaffold. The rising in La Vendée also brought fresh abuse upon the Prince. The Vendeans had proclaimed him King, and Simon made merry, with some of his friends who were visiting him, over the “King of La Vendée.” “For all that,” said one of them, “there are signs of change in the air, and it would be curious if this monkey should be a King sometime!” “At least, citizen,” returned Simon, “he will never be King of Paris—trust me for that!” The Prince, crouching at the foot of his bed, had been obliged to overhear all this, with other cruel and bloodthirsty jests about the son of “Louis the Shortened.” After the guests had finally departed, Simon remained some time longer in the room, quarrelling with his wife, who did not attempt to conceal her fears for the future. The little Prince had not dared to leave his place, and heard Simon say: “If the Vendeans should ever advance as far as Paris, I will throttle the young wolf before I will give him up to them.” He kept as still as he could, fearing that the least sound or movement would bring down on his head the storm that seemed ready to burst. Suddenly Simon came up to him, seized him by the ear, and led him to the table in the middle of the room. “Capet,” said he, “if the Vendeans should set you free, what would you do with me?” “I would forgive you,” replied the child, calmly. Such an answer might have softened the hardest heart, but it only increased the cobbler’s hatred for him. Poor helpless, forsaken child! They had robbed him of his mother, too, now, for the Queen had been dragged to the guillotine on the sixteenth of October, though, happily, of this he knew nothing.[20]