ot a flatterer. He responded discreetly, but without
concealing the truth:--

"The aspect of the people," he wrote, "permitted the thoughts agitating
its spirit to be recognized. We were following the King at a slight
distance and could judge very well of it. It was easy to read in all
eyes that the people were hurt at seeing the King humbly following the
priests. There was in that not so much irreligion as jealousy and
animosity toward the role played by the clergy."

It might have been asked, in these circumstances, whether the
criticisms of the opposition were just. If a ceremony was to be
observed, such, as the laying and blessing the corner-stone of an
expiatory monument, it must be religious. If it were religious, was not
the presence of the clergy in large numbers natural?

At heart, there was something noble and touching in the thought of
Charles X., and the true royalists sincerely respected it. Prom the
monarchical point of view, a monument to Louis XVI. had much more
raison d'etre than the obelisk since erected in its place, which
represents nothing, and has, moreover, the inconvenience of obstructing
the fine perspective of the Champs Elysees and the Tuileries. But there
were two camps in France, and these processions, expiations, prayers,
which, according to the royalist journals, opened a new era of
sanctity, glory, and virtue, exasperated the Voltairians. The
opposition determined to make of the King's piety a weapon against
royalty.

And yet, we repeat, this piety had nothing about it not worthy of
respect. As the Abbe Vedrenne remarks in his Vie de Charles X., this
Prince "had a perfect understanding of the duties and convenances of
his rank, never refused his presence at fetes where it was desirable,
never seemed to blame or fear what a sensible indulgence did not
condemn; he loved the charm of society, and increased it by his
kindliness, but he was not dazzled by it. He remained to the end the
most amiable prince in Europe, but he was also the severest. A
surprising thing in a convert, his religion was always full of true
charity for others. He excused those who neglected their Christian
duties, remembering his delay in practising his own, without ever
compromising his own beliefs. He sincerely respected the good faith of
those who did not share them. This faith, this piety--a legacy from
love--which he guarded so faithfully, was the consolation of his long
misfortunes and the principle of his un