Under these circumstances he applied for an assistant, and citizen Gomin was appointed to the duty.  Citizen Gomin, the son of a well-to-do upholsterer, had no desire to leave his father’s shop to become an under-jailer at the Temple; but his remonstrances were silenced by the emissaries of the committee, and he was carried off at once from his bench and his counter in a carriage which was waiting.  He was a kindly fellow, but prudent withal, and was so horrified when he saw the condition of his charge, that he would have resigned if he had not been afraid that by so doing he would become a suspect.  As it was he did his best to help Laurent, and by a happy thought, and with the connivance of a good-hearted municipal, brought into the invalid’s room four little pots of flowers in full bloom.  The sight of the flowers and the undisguised mark of sympathy and affection did what all previous kindness had failed to do—­unlocked the fountains of a long-sealed heart—­and the child burst into tears.  From that moment he recognised Gomin as his friend, but days elapsed before he spoke to him.  When he did, his first remark was—­“It was you who gave me some flowers:  I have not forgotten it.”

Gomin and Laurent by-and-by came to be great favourites; but the latter was compelled to resign his post through the urgency of his private affairs, and he was replaced by a house-painter called Lasne, who, like Gomin, was forced to abandon his own business at a moment’s notice.  He proved equally good-natured with the other two, and like them succeeded in gaining the friendship of the dauphin.  As far as he could, he lightened his captivity and tended him with the utmost care.  But no amount of kindliness could bring back strength to the wasted frame, or even restore hope to the careful attendants.  They sang to him, talked with him, and gave him toys; but it was all in vain.  In the month of May, 1705, they became really alarmed, and informed the government that the little Capet was dangerously ill.  No attention was paid to their report, and they wrote again, expressing a fear that he would not live.  After a delay of three days a physician came.  He considered him as attacked with the same scrofulous disorder of which his brother had died at Meudon, and proposed his immediate removal to the country.  This idea was, of course, regarded as preposterous.  He was, however, transferred to a more airy room; but the change had no permanent effect.  Lasne and Gomin did all they could for him, carrying him about in their arms, and nursing him day and night; but he continued gradually to sink.

On the morning of the 8th of June a bulletin was issued announcing that the life of the captive was in danger.  Poor patient Gomin was by his bedside, on the watch in more senses than one, and expressed his profound sorrow to see him suffer so much.  “Take comfort,” said the child, “I shall not always suffer so much.”  Then, says Beauchesne, “Gomin knelt down that he might be nearer to