they flew away at his approach, but from being accustomed to see him walking quietly there every day, they at last grew more familiar, and did not spread their wings for flight till he came up close to them.  They were always the same, he knew them by sight, and perhaps like himself they were inhabitants of that ancient pile.  He called them his birds; and his first action, when the door into the terrace was opened, was to look towards that side,—­and the sparrows were always there.  He delighted in their chirping, and he must have envied them their wings.

Though so little could be done to alleviate his sufferings, a moral improvement was taking place in him.  He was touched by the lively interest displayed by his physician, who never failed to visit him at nine o’clock every morning.  He seemed pleased with the attention paid him, and ended by placing entire confidence in M. Desault.  Gratitude loosened his tongue; brutality and insult had failed to extort a murmur, but kind treatment restored his speech he had no words for anger, but he found them to express his thanks.  M. Desault prolonged his visits as long as the officers of the municipality would permit.  When they announced the close of the visit, the child, unwilling to beg them to allow a longer time, held back M. Desault by the skirt of his coat.  Suddenly M. Desault’s visits ceased.  Several days passed and nothing was heard of him.  The keepers wondered at his absence, and the poor little invalid was much distressed at it.  The commissary on duty (M.  Benoist) suggested that it would be proper to send to the physician’s house to make inquiries as to the cause of so long an absence.  Gomin and Larne had not yet ventured to follow this advice, when next day M. Benoist was relieved by M. Bidault, who, hearing M. Desault’s name mentioned as he came in, immediately said, “You must not expect to see him any more; he died yesterday.”

M. Pelletan, head surgeon of the Grand Hospice de l’Humanite, was next directed to attend the prisoner, and in June he found him in so alarming a state that he at once asked for a coadjutor, fearing to undertake the responsibility alone.  The physician—­sent for form’s sake to attend the dying child, as an advocate is given by law to a criminal condemned beforehand—­blamed the officers of the municipality for not having removed the blind, which obstructed the light, and the numerous bolts, the noise of which never failed to remind the victim of his captivity.  That sound, which always caused him an involuntary shudder, disturbed him in the last mournful scene of his unparalleled tortures.  M. Pelletan said authoritatively to the municipal on duty, “If you will not take these bolts and casings away at once, at least you can make no objection to our carrying the child into another room, for I suppose we are sent here to take charge of him.”  The Prince, being disturbed by these words, spoken as they were with great animation, made a sign to the physician to come nearer.  “Speak lower, I beg of you,” said he; “I am afraid they will hear you up-stairs, and I should be very sorry for them to know that I am ill, as it would give them much uneasiness.”