her
of the King, had been able to collect after the Revolution, when the
sepulchre was violated and they were dispersed. The coffin, placed in a
separate vault, had recently been smashed in by the fall of an arch.
The debris of the arch, stones and plaster, had become mingled with the
bones.

The King had the coffin brought and opened before him. He was alone
in the vault with the chaplain and two aides-de-camp. Another coffin,
larger and stronger, had been prepared. The King himself, with his own
hands, took, one after the other, the bones of his ancestors from the
broken coffin and arranged them carefully in the new one. He would not
permit any one else to touch them. From time to time he counted the
skulls and said: "This is Monsieur the Duke de Penthievre. This is
Monsieur the Count de Beaujolais." Then to the best of his ability and
as far as he was able to he completed each group of bones.

This ceremony lasted from nine o'clock in the morning until seven
o'clock in the evening without the King taking either rest or
nourishment.

August, 1844.

Yesterday, the 15th, after having dined at M. Villemain's, who lives in
a country house near Neuilly, I called upon the King.

The King was not in the salon, where there were only the Queen, Madame
Adelaide and a few ladies, among them Mme. Firmin-Rogier, who is
charming. There were many visitors, among others the Duke de Brogue and
M. Rossi, who were of the dinner party at which I had been present, M.
de Lesseps, who lately distinguished himself as consul at Barcelona, M.
Firmin-Rogier and the Count d'Agout.

I bowed to the Queen, who spoke to me at length about the Princess de
Joinvile, who was delivered the day before yesterday, and whose baby
arrived on the very day the news of the bombardment of Tangier by its
father was received. It is a little girl. The Princess de Joinvile
passes the whole day kissing her and saying: "How pretty she is!" with
that sweet southern accent which the raillery of her brothers-in-law has
not yet caused her to lose.

While I was talking to the Queen, the Duchess d'Orleans, dressed in
black, came in and sat beside Madame Adelaide, who said to her: "Good
evening, dear Helene."

A moment afterwards, M. Guizot, in black, wearing a chain of
decorations, with a red ribbon in his buttonhole and the badge of the
Legion of Honour on his coat, and looking pale and grave, crossed the
salon. I grasped his hand as he passed and he said: