ur backs upon the town, he said, "Joy, Sir,--you spoke of joy!
Yes, we are Frenchmen: we forgive our rulers easily for private vices
and petty faults; but we never forgive them if they commit the greatest
of faults, and suffer a stain to rest upon--"

"What?" I asked, as my comrade broke off.

"The national glory, Monsieur!" said he.

"You have hit it," said I, smiling at the turgid sentiment which was so
really and deeply felt. "And had you written folios upon the character
of your countrymen, you could not have expressed it better."

CHAPTER VIII.

IN WHICH THERE IS REASON TO FEAR THAT PRINCES ARE NOT INVARIABLY FREE
FROM HUMAN PECCADILLOES.

ON entering Paris, my veteran fellow-traveller took leave of me, and I
proceeded to my hotel. When the first excitement of my thoughts was
a little subsided, and after some feelings of a more public nature, I
began to consider what influence the King's death was likely to have on
my own fortunes. I could not but see at a glance that for the cause of
the Chevalier, and the destiny of his present exertions in Scotland, it
was the most fatal event that could have occurred.

The balance of power in the contending factions of France would, I
foresaw, lie entirely between the Duke of Orleans and the legitimatized
children of the late king: the latter, closely leagued as they were with
Madame de Maintenon, could not be much disposed to consider the welfare
of Count Devereux; and my wishes, therefore, naturally settled on the
former. I was not doomed to a long suspense. Every one knows that the
very next day the Duke of Orleans appeared before Parliament, and was
proclaimed Regent; that the will of the late King was set aside; and
that the Duke of Maine suddenly became as low in power as he had always
been despicable in intellect. A little hubbub ensued: people in general
laughed at the Regent's _finesse_; and the more sagacious admired the
courage and address of which the _finesse_ was composed. The Regent's
mother wrote a letter of sixty-nine pages about it; and the Duchess of
Maine boxed the Duke's ears very heartily for not being as clever as
herself. All Paris teemed with joyous forebodings; and the Regent, whom
every one some time ago had suspected of poisoning his cousins, every
one now declared to be the most perfect prince that could possibly be
imagined, and the very picture of Henri Quatre in goodness as well as
physiognomy. Three days after this event, one happened