Louis the Dauphin, his only legitimate child, and heir to a throne to
which in the strange workings of Providence neither he nor his sons were
destined to ascend.

Strong as was the likeness between the three faces, each with the
curving Bourbon nose, the large full eye, and the thick Hapsburg
under-lip, their common heritage from Anne of Austria, there was still a
vast difference of temperament and character stamped upon their
features. The king was now in his six-and-fortieth year, and the
cropped black head was already thinning a little on the top, and shading
away to gray over the temples. He still, however, retained much of the
beauty of his youth, tempered by the dignity and sternness which
increased with his years. His dark eyes were full of expression, and
his clear-cut features were the delight of the sculptor and the painter.
His firm and yet sensitive mouth and his thick, well-arched brows gave
an air of authority and power to his face, while the more subdued
expression which was habitual to his brother marked the man whose whole
life had been spent in one long exercise of deference and
self-effacement. The dauphin, on the other hand, with a more regular
face than his father, had none of that quick play of feature when
excited, or that kingly serenity when composed, which had made a shrewd
observer say that Louis, if he were not the greatest monarch that ever
lived, was at least the best fitted to act the part.

Behind the king's son and the king's brother there entered a little
group of notables and of officials whom duty had called to this daily
ceremony. There was the grand master of the robes, the first lord of
the bed-chamber, the Duc du Maine, a pale youth clad in black velvet,
limping heavily with his left leg, and his little brother, the young
Comte de Toulouse, both of them the illegitimate sons of Madame de
Montespan and the king. Behind them, again, was the first valet of the
wardrobe, followed by Fagon, the first physician, Telier, the head
surgeon, and three pages in scarlet and gold who bore the royal clothes.
Such were the partakers in the family entry, the highest honour which
the court of France could aspire to.

Bontems had poured on the king's hands a few drops of spirits of wine,
catching them again in a silver dish; and the first lord of the
bedchamber had presented the bowl of holy water with which he made the
sign of the cross, muttering to himself the short office of the Holy