第178章 THE HOBBY-HORSE.(5)

"No, no," said Simon, motioning his wife to retreat from the hobby-horse which she was approaching. "He will not be stifled, for beneath the saddle-cloth there are nothing but air-holes, and he can endure it a good while. We must above all things be cautious and prepared for every thing. It would be a fine thing, would it not, if the officials who are on guard in the Temple should conceive the idea of making the rounds a second time for the purpose of inspection. He cannot be carried out before it strikes ten from Notre Dame. We will, however, give him a little more air."

He removed the saddle with care, which was let into the back of the wooden horse, and listened at the opening.

"He breathes very peacefully and evenly," he then said, softly. "He seems to be asleep. Jeanne Marie, hold the saddle in your hand, and at the least approach fit it again in its place. I will now take hold and pack our things."

When the night came, and the last rounds had been made past the closed doors of Simon's rooms, and the officials had withdrawn into the great hall, where they stayed during the night-watch, there was an unusual stir within Simon's apartments. Jeanne Marie, who had thrown herself in her clothes upon the bed, slipped out from beneath the coverlet. Simon, who was standing near the door listening, advanced to the little prince, and bade him in a whisper to get up.

The child, which now seemed to have recovered from its indifference and stupidity, rose at once, and at Simon's further command made an effort to remove his clothes, and to put on in their place the coarse woollen suit and the linen trousers which Simon drew out of his bed and handed to him.

The toilet was soon completed, and the little prince looked with a timid, inquiring glance at Simon, who was regarding him with a searching eye.

"And the stockings, master?" he asked. "Do not I have any stockings?"

"No," growled Simon--"no, the son of a washerwoman wants no stockings. There are some wooden shoes which will be laid for you in the basket, and you put them on afterward, if we are fortunate in getting away. But you must cut his hair, Jeanne Marie. With long hair he will not look like a boy from the people."

Jeanne Marie shuddered. "I cannot," she whispered; "it would seem to me as if I were cutting off his head, and the woman in white would stand behind, and pierce me through with her great eyes."

"Come, come, that old story again!" growled Simon. "Give me the scissors, then; I will take care of it, for the boy must part with his hair before he goes into the basket. Come, come, do not shrink and curl up so; I was not speaking of the guillotine-basket, but of your dirty-clothes basket. Come, Capet, I want to cut your hair."

He took the great shears from the work-basket, and sat down on a stool by the side of the table, on which burned a dim tallow candle, throwing an uncertain light through the apartment. "Come, Capet!"

The boy stole up with an insecure step, and shrank together when Simon seized him and drew him between his knees.

"Do not hurt him, Simon. Be careful of him," whispered Jeanne Marie, sinking on the floor and folding her hands. "Remember, husband, that she is here, and that she is looking at you, and that she bores into my head with her eyes when you do any harm to the child."

Simon looked around with a shy and anxious glance. "It is high time that we were away from here," he growled--"high time, if I am not to be crazy as well as you. Stoop down, Capet, so that I can cut your hair off." The child let his head fall; but a faint, carefully suppressed sob came from his breast, while Simon's shears went clashing through his locks, severing them from his head.

"What are you crying for, Capet?" asked Simon, zealously going forward with his work.

"I am so sorry, master, to have my locks cut off."

"You probably suppose, you vain monkey, that your locks are particularly beautiful?"

"Oh, no, master! It is only," sighed the boy with his eyes full of tears--" it is only because her hand has rested on them, and because she kissed them when I saw her the last time."

"Who is she?" asked Simon, roughly.

"My mamma queen," replied Louis with such a tone of tenderness as to bring tears into the eyes of Jeanne Marie, and even to move the cobbler himself.

"Hush!" he said, softly. "Hush! you must never call your mother by such a name. After to-morrow morning you are to be the son of a washerwoman. Remember that, and now be still! There, your hair is done now. Pick up the locks from the floor and lay them on the table, Jeanne Marie. We must leave them here, that the officer may find them in the morning, and not wonder if he does not recognize the urchin. Now we will bring the wash-basket, and see whether young Capet will go into it. "

He brought out of the chamber a high, covered basket, grasped the boy, thrust him in, and ordered him to lie down on the bottom of the basket.

"He exactly fits!" said Simon to his wife. "We will now throw some dirty clothes over him, and he can spend the night in the basket. We must be ready for any thing; for there are many distrustful officials, and it would not be the first time that they have made examinations in the night. Little Capet must remain in the basket, and now we will take his substitute out of the horse."

He went to the hobby-horse, took out some screws which ran along the edges of the upholstery, and then carefully removed the upper part of the animal from the lower. In the hollow thus brought to light, lay a pale, sick boy, with closed eyes--the nephew of the Marquis de Jarjayes, the last descendant of the Baroness de Tarclif, now, as all his ancestors had done, to give his life for his king.

Jeanne Marie rose from her knees, took a light from the table, and approached the child, which was lying in its confined space as in a coffin.

The little prince had raised himself up in his basket, and his pale face was visible as he looked, out of his large blue eyes, with curiosity and amazement at the sick child.