The physician, M. Desault, came every morning at nine o’clock to see his patient, and often remained with him for some time. The Prince was very fond of the good old man, and showed his gratitude both in words and looks. Suddenly, however, his visits ceased, and they learned that he had died unexpectedly on the thirty-first of May. The little Prince wept when he was told of it, and mourned sincerely for his kind friend. The chief surgeon, M. Pelletan, took his place; but he, too, had no hope of being able to prolong the life of the child, who, like a delicate plant deprived of light and air, gradually drooped and faded. Yet he bore his sufferings without a murmur or complaint. The plant was dying; its bright colors were gone, but its sweet fragrance remained to the last. M. Pelletan, who realized only too well his dangerous condition, had requested from the government the advice and assistance of another physician, and on the seventh of June M. Dumaugin was sent to accompany him to the Temple. The Prince’s weakness had increased alarmingly, and that morning, after having taken his medicine and been rubbed as usual, he had sunk into a sort of swoon, which made the jailers fear the end was near. He revived a little, however, when the physicians arrived; but they saw plainly it was useless to attempt to check the malady. They ordered a glass of sweetened water to be given to him, to cool his dry, parched mouth, if he should wish to drink, and withdrew with a painful sense of their helplessness. M. Pelletan was of the opinion that the little Prince would not live through another day, but his colleague did not think the end would come so soon. It was agreed that M. Pelletan should make his visit at eight o’clock the next morning, and M. Dumaugin was to come at eleven. When Gomin entered the room that evening with the Dauphin’s supper, he was pleasantly surprised to find the sick child a little improved. His color was better, his eyes brighter, his voice stronger. “Oh, it is you!” he said at once to his jailer, with evident pleasure at seeing him. “You are not suffering so much now?” asked Gomin. “Not so much,” answered the Prince softly. “You must thank this room for that,” said Gomin. “Here there is at least fresh air to breathe, and plenty of light; the good doctors come to see you, and you should find a little comfort in all this.” At these words the Prince looked up at his jailer with an expression of deepest sadness. His eyes grew dim, then shone suddenly bright again, as a tear trickled through his lashes and rolled down his cheek. “Alone—always alone!” was his answer. “And my mother has been over there, in that other Tower, all this time!”