some chairbacks, which they wished to send to the Duchesse de Tarente; but the officials considered that the patterns were hieroglyphics, intended for carrying on a correspondence, and ordered that none of the Princesses work should leave the Temple.  The short daily walk in the garden was also embittered by the rude behaviour of the military and municipal gaolers; sometimes, however, it afforded an opportunity for marks of sympathy to be shown.  People would station themselves at the windows of houses overlooking the Temple gardens, and evince by gestures their loyal affection, and some of the sentinels showed, even by tears, that their duty was painful to them.

On the 21st September the National Convention was constituted, Petion being made president and Collot d’Herbois moving the “abolition of royalty” amidst transports of applause.  That afternoon a municipal officer attended by gendarmes a cheval, and followed by a crowd of people, arrived at the Temple, and, after a flourish of trumpets, proclaimed the establishment of the French Republic.  The man, says Clery, “had the voice of a Stentor.”  The royal family could distinctly hear the announcement of the King’s deposition.  “Hebert, so well known under the title of Pere Duchesne, and Destournelles were on guard.  They were sitting near the door, and turned to the King with meaning smiles.  He had a book in his hand, and went on reading without changing countenance.  The Queen showed the same firmness.  The proclamation finished, the trumpets sounded afresh.  I went to the window; the people took me for Louis XVI. and I was overwhelmed with insults.”

After the new decree the prisoners were treated with increased harshness.  Pens, paper, ink, and pencils were taken from them.  The King and Madame Elisabeth gave up all, but the Queen and her daughter each concealed a pencil.  “In the beginning of October,” says Madame Royale, “after my father had supped, he was told to stop, that he was not to return to his former apartments, and that he was to be separated from his family.  At this dreadful sentence the Queen lost her usual courage.  We parted from him with abundance of tears, though we expected to see him again in the morning.

[At nine o’clock, says Clery, the King asked to be taken to his family, but the municipal officers replied that they had “no orders for that.”  Shortly afterwards a boy brought the King some bread and a decanter of lemonade for his breakfast.  The King gave half the bread to Clery, saying, “It seems they have forgotten your breakfast; take this, the rest is enough for me.”  Clery refused, but the King insisted.  “I could not contain my tears,” he adds; “the King perceived them, and his own fell also.”]