"
"Ah! you are there, too, madame, the baker's wife, are you?" cried
the man, with a horrid laugh. "We meet once more, and the eyes of
our most beautiful queen fall again upon the dirty, pitiable face of
such a poor, wretched creature as, in your heavenly eyes, the
cobbler Simon is!"
"Are you Simon the cobbler?" asked Marie Antoinette.
"It is true, I bethink me now, I have spoken with you once before.
It was when I carried the prince here, for the first time, to Notre
Dame, that God would bless him, and that the people might see him.
You stood then by my carriage, sir!"
"Yes, it is true," answered Simon, visibly flattered. "You have, at
least, a good memory, queen. But you ought to have paid attention to
what I said to you. I am no 'sir,' I am a simple cobbler, and earn
my poor bit of bread in the sweat of my brow, while you strut about
in your glory and happiness, and cheat God out of daylight. Then I
held the hand of your daughter in my fist, and she cried out for
fear, merely because a poor fellow like me touched her."
"But, Mr. Simon, you see very plainly that I do not cry out," said
the dauphin, with a smile. "I know that you do not want to do me any
harm, and I ask you to be so good as to take away your arm, that my
mamma can go on in her walk."
"But, suppose that I do not do as you want me to?" asked the
cobbler, defiantly.
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