On the evening of the 10th of June the coffin which contained the body was carried out at the great gate, escorted by a small detachment of troops, and the crowd which had collected was kept back by gens d’armes.  Lasne was among the mourners, and witnessed the interment, which took place in the cemetery of Sainte-Marguerite.  As the soldier-guarded coffin passed along, the people asked whose body it contained, and were answered ‘little Capet;’ and the more popular title of dauphin spread from lip to lip with expressions of pity and compassion, and a few children of the common people, in rags, took off their caps, in token of respect and sympathy, before this coffin that contained a child who had died poorer than they themselves were to live.

The procession entered by the old gate of the cemetery, and the interment took place in the corner on the left, at a distance of eight or nine feet from the enclosure wall, and at an equal distance from a small house.  The grave was filled up—­no mound was raised, but the ground was carefully levelled, so that no trace of the interment should remain.  All was over.

This is the story of M. Beauchesne, and there seems to be little reason to doubt its truth in any essential particular.  He writes with much feeling, but he does not permit his sentiments to overcome his reason, and has verified the truthfulness of his statements before giving them to the public.  His book is the result of twenty years’ labour and research, and he freely reproduces his authorities for the inspection and judgment of his readers.  He was personally acquainted with Lasne and Gomin, the two last keepers of the Tower, and the government aided him if it did not patronise him in his work.  Certificates, reports, and proclamations are all proved, and lithographs of them are given.  The book is a monument of patient research as well as of love, and the mass of readers will find no difficulty in believing that it embodies the truth, or that Louis XVII. really died in the Temple on the 8th of June 1795.

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But in a land such as France, it is not remarkable that the utmost should have been made of the mystery which surrounded the fate of the youthful dauphin, or that pretenders should have endeavoured to personate the son of Louis XVI.  The first of these was a lad called Jean Marie Hervagault, a young scamp, who was a native of St. Lo, a little village in the department of La Manche, and who resided there during his early youth with his father, who was a tailor.  This precocious youth, who was gifted with good looks, and who undoubtedly bore some resemblance to the deceased prince, ran away from home in 1796, and, by his plausible manners and innocent expression, succeeded in ingratiating himself with several royalist families of distinction, who believed his story that he was the son of a proscribed nobleman.  His good luck was so great that he was induced to visit Cherbourg, and tempt his fortune among the concealed adherents of the monarchy who were resident there; but he was quickly detected, and was thrown into prison.