“Sire! sire!” be cried in despair.

The door closed again. He no longer saw anything, and heard only the hoarse voice of the turnkey, singing in his ears this ditty, —

“Ma�tre Jean Balue, A perdu la vue De ses �v�ch�s. Monsieur de Verdun. N’en a plus pas un; Tous sont d�p�ch�s.”

The king reascended in silence to his retreat, and his suite followed him, terrified by the last groans of the condemned man.

All at once his majesty turned to the Governor of the Bastille, —

“By the way,” said he, “was there not some one in that cage?”

“Pardieu, yes sire!” replied the governor, astounded by the question.