It just made us wild to read about how shamefully they treated that poor little fellow. They gave him in charge of a horrible, cruel cobbler, named Simon, who beat and ill-used him abominably,--just because he happened to be the child of a king,--and then afterward they shut him up in a room by himself, where he never saw a single soul for six months, and handed him his food as they would to a dog in a kennel. At the end of that time they appeared to be a bit sorry for the way they'd acted, and let him come out into a decent room and tried to take a little better care of him. But it was too late, for he died soon afterward,--as I should think he would after standing that kind of treatment for three years. Carol and I got so worked up over the thing that we almost cried. We felt awfully to think that a poor, innocent, little chap should be treated that way by people who were fighting for liberty and justice, as the French were. It didn't make any difference if he _was_ a king's son. He had just as much right to be fairly treated as any one, and _more_, because he was so little and helpless. I don't wonder that Monsieur said he was one of the world's heroic martyrs. One book said that he was always so sweet and gentle and winning. His pretty manner at times even softened the hearts of some of his cruel jailers. Well, that's the history of the dauphin. He would have been Louis XVII, if he had lived to become a king. The portrait of him must have been painted before all the trouble broke out. At that time the poor little fellow could not have dreamed what he was going to suffer later. It's well that he didn't know. As there didn't seem to be any more to find out, we decided we'd better go home. I was longing for a chance to tell the Imp what we'd discovered, but she had a bad sore-throat from getting her feet wet this afternoon, and Mother had put her to bed. So I must wait till to-morrow. But since I've had an opportunity to sit down and think this all over quietly, I've been trying to see what connection all these things can possibly have with affairs across the Green. So far, however, nothing but unanswered questions has been the result. For instance, I can _not_ understand why Monsieur should consider that portrait as one of his most treasured possessions. Of course the story about the boy is terribly sad, but unless he was some relative of Monsieur's (which is quite impossible), why should Monsieur cherish the picture? He never saw the child, and can't possibly have any affection for him. I don't understand it. And what are those two other pictures, so carefully covered? Perhaps they are more portraits of the same child, painted later and too sad to be looked at? I'd love to know.