The two women put their arms around one another,
kneeled upon the floor and prayed.
From this day on, Marie Antoinette had no hope more; her heart was
broken. Whole days long she sat fixed and immovable, without paying
any regard to the tender words of her sister-in-law and the caresses
of her daughter, without working, reading, or busying herself in any
way. Formerly she had helped to put the rooms in order, and mend the
clothes and linen; now she let the two princesses do this alone and
serve her.
Only for a few hours each day did her countenance lighten at all,
and the power of motion return to this pale, marble figure. Those
were the hours when she waited for her son, as he went with Simon
every day to the upper story and the platform of the tower. She
would then put her head to the door and listen to every step and all
the words that he directed to the turnkey as he passed by.
Soon she discovered a means of seeing him. There was a little crack
on the floor of the platform on which the boy walked. The world
revolved for the queen only around this little crack, and the
instant in which she could see her boy.
At times, too, a compassionate guard who had to inspect the prison
brought her tidings of her son, told her that he was well, that he
had learned to play ball, and that by his friendly nature he won
every one's love.
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