"I do not suffer," he whispered so
softly that it sounded like the last breath of a departing spirit.
"I only suffer if I see you weep, mamma." [Footnote: The very words
of the dying dauphin.--See Weber, "Memoires," vol. L, p. 209.]
Marie Antoinette quickly dried her tears, and, kneeling near the
bed, found power in her motherly love to summon a smile to her lips,
in order that the dauphin, whose eyes remained fixed upon her, might
not see that she was suffering.
A deep silence prevailed now in the apartment; nothing was heard but
the gently-whispered prayers of the spectators, and the slow,
labored breathing of the dying child.
Once the door was lightly opened, and a man's figure stole lightly
in, advanced on tiptoe to the bed, and sank on his knees close by
Marie Antoinette. It was the king, who had just been summoned from
the council-room to see his son die.
And now with a loud voice the priest began the prayers for the
dying, and all present softly repeated them. Only the queen could
not; her eyes were fastened upon her son, who now saw her no more,
for his eyes were fixed in the last death-struggle.
Still one last gasp, one last breath; then came a cry from Marie
Antoinette's lips, and her head sank upon the hand of her son, which
rested in her own, and which was now stiff.
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