But there was yet another of all the throng that frequented the tavern, who struck Jean with a thrill of dread, whenever he entered the shop. This was Simon, once a cobbler in the Rue des Cordeliers, now a commissary of the Tower. He was a medium-sized, square-built man of about fifty-seven years, with great, powerful limbs, a tanned face framed by coarse black hair that was always hanging in his eyes, and a heavy beard. His eyes were ugly and malicious, and he was never seen without a short black pipe between his teeth. His manner was gruff and insolent, especially when he spoke of the royal prisoners. Jean's hands itched to choke him, particularly on one day when he flung himself into a chair, and exploded in the following fashion: "That Capet creature! What do you think he has done to-day? Handed me a paper on which was written,--'The _King_ wishes such and such articles for his wardrobe! The _Queen_ desires some more linen, etc!' I said to him,--'Capet, don't you understand that we have abolished kings and queens? This nation is a republic now! Alter that memorandum as quickly as you can!' He replied that I could hand it to his valet and he would attend to it. The insolent object! Those Capets! Kinging and queening themselves in spite of everything! I'll teach them a few lessons!" Jean could not rid himself of the impression that this man was to play some dreadful part in the lives of the unhappy prisoners, and as time proved, he was not mistaken. Meanwhile the months were passing, and events were hastening on toward the dark deed which our Jean could neither delay nor prevent,--the trial, condemnation and execution of Louis XVI. At last it came! The Republic pronounced him guilty of conspiring against the liberty of his people, and of endeavouring to endanger their safety by defending himself. Poor King! His only crime had been that of being born a monarch, his heritage the wrongs committed by generations of his ruling ancestors, and his misfortune that he was utterly unable to cope with the situation in which fate had placed him. Never was a trial conducted that was so much of a farce! The King was allowed two lawyers to defend his cause, but his condemnation was a foregone conclusion--even to himself. He was sentenced to lay down his life the very next day, the twenty-first of January, 1793. The new Republic had stained her glorious liberty by this great injustice, and therefore she dared lose no time in executing the sentence.