The Prince de Conde was walking with quick steps up and down his apartment. His brow was cloudy, his eyes wore a sad look, and at times he raised his hand, as if he would remove a veil that darkened his sight.
"It must he," he said, decisively, after a while. "Yes, it must be;
I see no other means of saving him from the snares of his enemies and friends. He must leave, and that at once."
He walked hastily to the table, pulled the bell violently, and ordered the servant who came in to bring the boy who came yesterday to him.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and a boy of ten. or twelve years, with great blue eyes, fair hair, graceful form, and delicate complexion, came into the room. At his appearance the Prince de Conde seemed deeply moved. He hastened with open arms to meet the boy, pressed him closely to his heart, and kissed his fair hair and eyes.
"Welcome, a thousand times welcome!" he said, with trembling voice.
"How long have I desired to see this moment, and how happy I am that it has come at last! You are saved, yon are restored to *******, to life, and there is in store for you, I hope, a great and brilliant future!"
"Then I shall have to thank you for it, my cousin," said the boy, with his sweet, resonant voice. "You have released me from the dreadful prison, and I thank you for life. I am glad, too, that I see you at last, for I wanted so much to express my thanks, and every evening I have prayed to God to grant me the happiness of greeting my dear cousin, the Prince de Conde."
The joyous light had long since faded from the face of the prince, and a cloud was gathering on his brow, as, with a timid, searching look, he glanced around, as if he feared that some one besides himself might hear the words of the boy.
"Do not call me your cousin," he said, softly; and even his voice was changed, and became cold and husky.
The boy fixed his great blue eyes with an expression of astonishment on the gloomy countenance of the Prince de Conde.
"You are no longer glad to see me here? Is it disagreeable to you for me to call you my cousin?"
The prince made no answer at once, but walked up and down with great strides, and then stood still before the boy, who had calmly observed his impatient motions.
"Let us sit down," said the Prince de Conde--" let us sit down and talk."
He gave his hand to the boy, led him to the divan, and took his own place upon an easy-chair, directly opposite to the child.
"Let us talk," he repeated. "I should like to know, in the first place, whether you have a good memory, for I have been told that your head has suffered, and that you have no recollection of the past."
A gentle, sad smile played around the lips of the boy.
"I have been silent about the past, as I have been commanded to," he said, "but I have not forgotten it."
"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. "And how did you escape from these people?" he asked.
"You know, Prince de Conde," answered the boy, smiling. "It is you who helped me escape."
"Tell me about this matter a little," said the prince, "and how you have fared since then. I contributed, as you suppose, to your release, but I was not present In person. How did you escape from the Temple?"
"I was put into a basket with soiled clothes, which Mistress Simon was taking away with her from the Temple. This basket she gave to a washerwoman who was waiting for us at the Macon gate. She had a little donkey-cart in readiness there, the basket was put into it, and went on to a village, the name of which I do not know. There we stopped; I was taken out of the basket and carried into a house, where we remained a few hours to rest and change our clothes."
"We? Whom do you mean by we?"
"Me and the supposed washerwoman," replied the boy. "This woman was, however, no other than M. de Jarjayes, whom I knew long ago, and who, with Fidele--I should say, with Toulan--had thought out and executed the plan of my escape. M. de Jarjayes changed his clothes, as did I also, and after remaining concealed in the house all day, in the evening we took a carriage and rode all night. On the next day we remained concealed in some house, and in the night we continued our journey."
"Did he tell you where you were going?"
