But at last he seemed to make up his mind that it was wisest to yield over so small a matter, and he took the glass from Madame Simon.
And thus did de Batz see the descendant of St.Louis quaffing a glass of raw spirit at the bidding of a rough cobbler's wife, whom he called by the fond and foolish name sacred to childhood, maman! Selfish egoist though he was, de Batz turned away in loathing.
Simon had watched the little scene with obvious satisfaction.

He chuckled audibly when the child drank the spirit, and called Heron's attention to him, whilst a look of triumph lit up his wide, pale eyes.
"And now, mon petit," he said jovially, "let the citizen hear you say your prayers!" He winked toward de Batz, evidently anticipating a good deal of enjoyment for the visitor from what was coming.

From a heap of litter in a corner of the room he fetched out a greasy red bonnet adorned with a tricolour cockade, and a soiled and tattered flag, which had once been white, and had golden fleur-de-lys embroidered upon it.
The cap he set on the child's head, and the flag he threw upon the floor.
"Now, Capet--your prayers!" he said with another chuckle of amusement.
All his movements were rough, and his speech almost ostentatiously coarse.

He banged against the furniture as he moved about the room, kicking a footstool out of the way or knocking over a chair.

De Batz instinctively thought of the perfumed stillness of the rooms at Versailles, of the army of elegant high-born ladies who had ministered to the wants of this child, who stood there now before him, a cap on his yellow hair, and his shoulder held up to his ear with that gesture of careless indifference peculiar to children when they are sullen or uncared for.
Obediently, quite mechanically it seemed, the boy trod on the flag which Henri IV had borne before him at Ivry, and le Roi Soleil had flaunted in the face of the armies of Europe.