We will pass quickly over this period—one long monotonous round of misery and wretchedness, that lasted without intermission for more than six months. During all that time the air of heaven did not once penetrate to this barred cell, and only a faint glimmer of daylight pierced the grating and the close, heavy shutters. The little prisoner never saw the guards who thrust his scanty meals to him through the wicket; he heard no sound but the creaking of bolts and a harsh voice, which at the close of day ordered him to go to bed, since there was no light for him. The solitude and loneliness lay upon his spirit like a leaden weight. Without work, without play, without diversion or occupation of any kind, how endless must the days have been! And then the night and darkness, with its vague phantoms, its indefinable terrors, chilling the child’s blood with fear! Many such days and nights passed, but no word, no sound of complaint, escaped from the dark cell. The wicket was opened every day, but the little Prince never sought for pity or compassion. He had given up all hope of human sympathy, and trusted only to the mercy of God; hoped only for a speedy death and for everlasting peace beyond. The deputies, whose duty it was to guard the Dauphin, were cruel and unfeeling—if not naturally so, then because they feared to be otherwise. At nightfall they would go up to the den of the “young wolf” to assure themselves that he was alive and had not escaped. If he did not answer their harsh summons at once, they would open the wicket with a great clattering and shout: “Capet, Capet! Are you asleep? Where are you? Get up, viper!” The child, so rudely aroused, would drag himself with trembling limbs from his wretched bed to the grating, his feet colder than the damp floor on which he trod, to answer gently: “Here I am!” “Come nearer, then, so we can see you!” they would cry, holding up a lantern to light the cell. “Very good! Go to bed again!” Two hours later there would be another rattling of bolts, other deputies would appear, and again the Prince would be roused from his sleep and compelled, half-naked and shivering with cold and terror, to answer the questions of his jailers. This persecution soon exhausted him mentally and physically. The lack of fresh air, the darkness and solitude, benumbed all his faculties. He no longer wept. His feeble hands could scarcely lift the earthen plate or jug in which his food and water were brought. He had ceased to try to clean his room; he no longer had even the strength to shake up the sack of straw that formed his bed, or to turn the mattress. The bedclothes were never changed, and his pillow was in tatters; he could not get clean linen or mend his ragged clothes; he had not resolution enough to wash and clean himself, but lay patiently on his bed most of the time, his dull eyes staring into vacancy.