Just at the moment when they
entered the room of the little Louis Capet, the automaton began to
sing with his loud, penetrating voice, "Oh! Richard, oh my king!"
The officials came to a halt upon the threshold, as though petrified
at this unheard-of license, and fixed their cold, angry looks now
upon the bird-, now upon the boy, who was sitting upon his rush-
chair before the cage, looking at the birds with beaming eyes.
A second time the automaton began the unfortunate air, and the
exasperated inspectors strode up to the cage. "What does this mean?"
asked one of them. "How does any one dare to keep up, in the
glorious republic, such worthless reminders of the cursed monarchy."
"Only see," cried another--"see the order that one of the birds is
wearing. It is plain that the old passion of royalty still lurks
here, for even here ribbons are given away as signs of distinction.
The republic forbids such things, and we will not suffer such
infamy."
The inspector put his hand into the cage, seized the little canary-
bird with the red ribbon, and squeezed him so closely that the poor
little creature gave one faint chirp and died. The man drew him out,
and hurled him against the wall of the room.
The little boy said not a word, he uttered not a complaint; he gazed
with widely-opened eyes at his dead favorite, and two great tears
slowly trickled down his pale cheeks.
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