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“Papa,” he cried. “Give me a kiss! I deserve it, for I was truly brave and did not cry or even speak when the people put the red cap on my head.”

The king stooped with a dignity which was almost reverent, kissed the boy’s broad forehead and pushed back his thick golden hair, then turned to answer a question put by one of the representatives of the people; several of whom were in the room. And all at once these men gathered around the little Dauphin, of whose brilliant mind they had heard so much, and began to question him eagerly on all kinds of subjects, especially about the boundaries of France, and its division into departments and districts, and every question he answered quickly. After each answer he glanced up at his mother inquiringly, and when her face showed that he had answered correctly, his face beamed with pleasure, and he enjoyed seeing the astonishment on those faces crowding around him. One of those present asked:

“Do you sing, too, Prince?”

The Dauphin glanced again at the queen.

“Mamma,” he asked, “shall I sing the prayer I sang this morning?”

Marie Antoinette nodded assent and the Dauphin knelt beside her, and folding his hands and looking up with a sweet look of reverence in his blue eyes, sang in a clear voice:

“Oh heaven, accept the prayer
I offer here,
Unto his subjects spare
My father dear.”

There was absolute silence in the room, while those faces, before so hard and stern, softened. Then with a single glance at the lovely boy, who was still kneeling, with a look on his face as if in a happy dream, one by one, those revolutionists silently left the room.

But even the prayer and the faith of the Dauphin could not longer save the royal family from their fate.

The people, inflamed to fury by every desire of which the revolutionists could make use, now demanded the dethronement of the King, and the giving of the crown to the Dauphin, in whose name, as he was not yet of age, they intended to govern by means of a committee chosen by themselves. To this the King naturally would not give his consent, and amid scenes and sounds terrible beyond all description, the royal family were declared prisoners of the people, and told that they were to thereafter live in the Temple, which was now the royal prison. As the Tuileries had already been pillaged by the mob, the royal family found themselves without food or clothing, except what they wore. The Dauphin was entirely destitute, but fortunately the Duchess of Sutherland had a small son the age of the Dauphin, and she sent the young prince what he needed in the way of clothing for their departure. On August 13, 1792, the sad procession of royalty left the Tuileries in the late afternoon and were escorted by a great mob of frenzied men and women who acted more like wild beasts than like human beings. At night-fall the carriage reached the Temple and the royal prisoners were taken to that part of the building called “the palace,” where they found no comforts or necessities of any kind, and torn sheets even had to be used on the Dauphin’s bed. Later while the furies who had the prisoners in their power, were converting the principal tower of the building, not only into a prison, but into the worst one imaginable, the king and his family continued to remain in the palace during the day time, but at night, they were all shut up in the small tower–in four cells whose doors were guarded by soldiers. Two men who had been for years in the service of the king, were allowed to remain with him, and they and their sovereigns passed the time in such occupations as were possible. The King found his principal pleasure in superintending the Dauphin’s education, giving him lessons every morning, then at one o’clock if the weather was fine, the royal family would all go into the garden, and the Dauphin would play ball or quoits or run races, as was suitable for his age and activity of body. At two o’clock dinner was served, and afterwards, the Dauphin again had a play hour while the king enjoyed a nap. As soon as he awoke, Clery, who had been with the Dauphin for several years, would give him writing and arithmetic lessons, and then he would play ball or battledore-and-shuttlecock for awhile, and then there would be reading aloud until it was time for the Dauphin’s supper, after which the king would amuse his children with all sorts of riddles and puzzles and games, and then the Dauphin went to bed.