the Duke
of Bordeaux and Mademoiselle and he embraced them. The poor children
were disconcerted by so much sadness. "As soon as I can," he said to
them, "I promise to come to see you." Then turning to the company: "I
would be alone." All withdrew in silence. The Dauphiness was weeping.
The Dauphin had disappeared. Everything was gloomy. No one spoke. Thus
passed the first day of the reign of Charles X.

The next day the King received the felicitations of the Corps de
l'Etat. Many addresses were delivered. "All contained the expression of
the public love," said Marshal Marmont in his Memoirs, "and I believe
that they were sincere; but the love of the people is, of all loves,
the most fragile, the most apt to evaporate. The King responded in an
admirable manner, with appropriateness, intelligence, and warmth. His
responses, less correct, perhaps, than those of Louis XVIII., had
movement and spirit, and it is so precious to hear from those invested
with the sovereign powers things that come from the heart, that Charles
X. had a great success. I listened to him with care, and I sincerely
admired his facility in varying his language and modifying his
expressions according to the eminence of the authority from whom the
compliments came."

The reception lasted several hours. When the coaches had rolled away
and when quiet was re-established in the Chateau of Saint Cloud,
Charles X., in the mourning costume of the Kings, the violet coat, went
to the apartment of the Duke of Bordeaux and his sister. The usher
cried: "The King!" The two children, frightened, and holding each other
by the hand, remained silent. Charles X. opened his arms and they threw
themselves into them. Then the sovereign seated himself in his
accustomed chair and held his grandchildren for some moments pressed to
his heart. The Duke of Bordeaux covered the hands and the face of his
grandfather with kisses. Mademoiselle regarded attentively the altered
features of the King and his mourning dress, novel to her. She asked
him why he wore such a coat. Charles X. did not reply, and sighed. Then
he questioned the governess as to the impression made on the children
by the death of Louis XVIII. Madame de Gontaut hesitated to answer,
recalling the strange phrase of Mademoiselle: "King! Oh! that indeed is
the worst of the story." But the little Princess, clinging to her
notion, began to repeat the unlucky phrase. Charles X., willing to give
it a favorable interpreta