"
"I will swear to the first," was the princess's answer, "but to the
last I cannot swear, for it does not lie in my heart."
This was the offence of the princess, that hate did not lie in her
heart--the offence of so many others who were killed on that 3d of
September, that dreadful day on which the hordes of Marseilles
opened the prisons, in order to drag the prisoners before the
tribunals, or to execute them without further sentence.
The days passed by, and they had to be borne. Marie Antoinette had
regained her composure and her proud calmness. She had to overcome
even this great grief, and the heart of the queen had not yet been
broken. She still loved, she still hoped. She owed it to her husband
and children not to despair, and better days might come even yet.
"We must keep up courage," she said, "to live till the dawn of this
better day."
And it required spirit to bear the daily torture of this life!
Always exposed to scorn and abuse! Always watched by the eyes of
mocking, reviling men! Always scrutinized by Madame Tison, her
servant, who followed every one of her motions as a cat watches its
prey, and among all these sentinels the most obnoxious of all was
the cobbler Simon.
Commissioned by the authorities to supervise the workmen and masons
who were engaged in restoring the partially ruined ancient portion
of the Temple, Simon had made himself at home within the building,
to discharge his duties more comfortably.
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