te. He had found out the vanity of pleasure, as his
ancestor had discovered the vanity of glory: indeed it was high time
that he should die. And die he did; and round his tomb, as round that of
his grandfather before him, the starving people sang a dreadful chorus
of curses, which were the only epitaphs for good or for evil that were
raised to his memory.

As for the courtiers--the knights and nobles, the unbought grace of
life--they, of course, forgot him in one minute after his death, as
the way is. When the king dies, the officer appointed opens his chamber
window, and calling out into the court below, Le Roi est mort,
breaks his cane, takes another and waves it, exclaiming, vive le Roi!
Straightway all the loyal nobles begin yelling vive le Roi! and the
officer goes round solemnly and sets yonder great clock in the Cour
de Marbre to the hour of the king's death. This old Louis had solemnly
ordained; but the Versailles clock was only set twice: there was no
shouting of Vive le Roi when the successor of Louis XV. mounted to
heaven to join his sainted family.

Strange stories of the deaths of kings have always been very recreating
and profitable to us: what a fine one is that of the death of Louis XV.,
as Madame Campan tells it. One night the gracious monarch came back ill
from Trianon; the disease turned out to be the small-pox; so violent
that ten people of those who had to enter his chamber caught the
infection and died. The whole court flies from him; only poor old fat
Mesdames the King's daughters persist in remaining at his bedside, and
praying for his soul's welfare.

On the 10th May, 1774, the whole court had assembled at the chateau; the
oeil de Boeuf was full. The Dauphin had determined to depart as soon as
the king had breathed his last. And it was agreed by the people of
the stables, with those who watched in the king's room, that a lighted
candle should be placed in a window, and should be extinguished as
soon as he had ceased to live. The candle was put out. At that signal,
guards, pages, and squires mounted on horseback, and everything was
made ready for departure. The Dauphin was with the Dauphiness, waiting
together for the news of the king's demise. AN IMMENSE NOISE, AS IF OF
THUNDER, WAS HEARD IN THE NEXT ROOM; it was the crowd of courtiers, who
were deserting the dead king's apartment, in order to pay their court
to the new power of Louis XVI. Madame de Noailles entered, and was the
first to salu