e,' answered the Englishman, 'give me the
white plume you wore this day.' From that moment the Englishman's
fortune was made."

"The flattery went further than the valour!" said I, smiling, as I
recognized in the anecdote the first great step which my father had made
in the ascent of fortune.

"_Sacristie_!" cried the Frenchman, "it was no flattery then. We so
idolized the King that mere truth would have seemed disloyalty; and we
no more thought that praise, however extravagant, was adulation, when
directed to him, than we should have thought there was adulation in the
praise we would have given to our first mistress. But it is all changed
now! Who now cares for the old priest-ridden monarch?"

And upon this the veteran, having conquered the momentary enthusiasm
which the remembrance of the King's earlier glories had excited,
transferred all his genius of description to the opposite side of the
question, and declaimed, with great energy, upon the royal vices and
errors, which were so charming in prosperity, and were now so detestable
in adversity.

While we were thus conversing we approached Versailles. We thought the
vicinity of the town seemed unusually deserted. We entered the main
street: crowds were assembled; a universal murmur was heard; excitement
sat on every countenance. Here an old crone was endeavouring to explain
something, evidently beyond his comprehension, to a child of three years
old, who, with open mouth and fixed eyes, seemed to make up in wonder
for the want of intelligence; there a group of old disbanded soldiers
occupied the way, and seemed, from their muttered conversations, to
vent a sneer and a jest at a priest who, with downward countenance and
melancholy air, was hurrying along.

One young fellow was calling out, "At least, it is a holy-day, and I
shall go to Paris!" and, as a contrast to him, an old withered artisan,
leaning on a gold-headed cane, with sharp avarice eloquent in every line
of his face, muttered out to a fellow-miser, "No business to-day, no
money, John; no money!" One knot of women, of all ages, close by which
my horse passed, was entirely occupied with a single topic, and that
so vehemently that I heard the leading words of the discussion.
"Mourning--becoming--what fashion?--how long?--_O Ciel_!" Thus do
follies weave themselves round the bier of death!

"What is the news, gentlemen?" said I.

"News! what, you have not heard it?--the King is dead!"

"Louis dead! Lo