"
"Do you remember your mother?" asked the prince.
The boy trembled convulsively, a glowing red passed over his cheeks,
and a deep paleness followed.
"Monsieur," he asked, with a tremulous voice, "would it be possible
for me to forget my dear mamma queen?--my mamma queen who loved her
little Louis Charles so much? Ah, sir, you would not have asked that
if you had known how much pain you give me."
"I beg your pardon," said the prince, embarrassed. "I see you
remember. But let me try you once more. Will you tell me what
happened to you after being taken away from your cruel foster-
parents? What were those people's names, and what were they?"
"My foster-parents, or my tormentors rather, were called Mr. and
Mistress Simon. The man had been a cobbler, but afterward he was
superintendent and turnkey in the Temple, and when I was taken away
from my mamma, sister, and aunt, I had to live with these dreadful
people."
"Did you fare badly there?"
"Very badly, sir; I was scolded and ill-treated, and the worst of
all was that they wanted to compel me to sing ribald songs about my
mamma queen."
"But you did not sing these songs?" asked the Prince de Conde.
The eyes of the boy flamed. "No," he said, proudly, "I did not sing
them. They might have beaten me to death. I would rather have died
than have done it,"
The prince nodded approvingly.
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