We cannot dwell upon this part of his story. We know little of it; and that little is terrible. There was a broken bell in his room; but he was so afraid of the people that he never rang it. He might, it is said, have left the room: but he was very weak and ill, and seems to have grown bewildered. He had not strength to make his own bed; and it was never made for six months: nor was the bedding changed, nor even his shirt, nor the windows opened in all that time. A pitcher of water was put into his room sometimes; but he never washed himself. There he lay, feeble, and frightened at every noise, surrounded with filth, and covered with vermin, scarcely knowing day from night,--with no voice near to rouse him, no candle in the longest winter nights, no books, no play, no desire for any of these things, no cheerful thoughts in his own mind, and his weak body feverish and aching. Was any poor man's child ever so miserable? Let us pass on to a brighter day, which came at last. On the 28th of July following, there was much noise in the streets, and bustle in the prison, so early as six in the morning; and some finely-dressed gentlemen entered the poor boy's room. He did not know who they were; and they said little, and soon went away. They were, however, sufficiently impressed with what they saw to take some measures for Louis's relief. They had been sent by the Convention, on the downfall and death of the great revolutionary leader, Robespierre, to see what was the state of things at the Temple; and in consequence of their report, a person named Laurent was appointed to visit the royal children. At last, Louis found himself visited, several times in the day, by one whom he need not be afraid of. Laurent spoke tenderly to him, and told him he should be better taken care of. The dirty bed was carried away; the window was opened, and the room cleaned; and then a clean comfortable bed was brought in. The best thing was that Louis was put into a warm-bath; and Laurent cleansed him from head to foot. Louis was sorry to see Laurent leave the room; but he knew he would soon be back again; and never failed to appear three times during the day. He would have done more for the poor boy: he would have changed his room, and found him amusements, and had him well nursed, but that he feared being dismissed if he showed too much indulgence at once; and that then Louis would be allowed to relapse into his former state. Perhaps it was better for the boy that the improvement in his condition took place gradually; for it might have overpowered him to have had people about him, taking care of him all day, after so many months spent entirely alone.