of age. The
youngest, the Duke of Anjou, had just attained his second year. By the
death of the Duke of Burgoyne, his eldest child became the dauphin and
the immediate heir to the crown. The next day both of these children
were taken sick, evidently with the same malady, whether of natural
disease or the effect of poison, which had proved so fatal to their
parents. The eldest immediately died. The same funeral car conveyed
the remains of the father, the mother, and the child to the gloomy
vaults of St. Denis.

The youngest child, the Duke of Anjou, by the most careful nursing
recovered to ascend the throne with the title of Louis XV., and to
present to the world, in his character, one of the most infamous kings
who had ever worn an earthly crown.

We have previously mentioned the death of the king's only brother,
Philip, duke of Orleans. He left a son, the Duke of Chartres. Upon the
death of the Duke of Orleans his son inherited the title and the
estate of his father. He was an exceedingly dissolute man. Should all
the legitimate descendants of the king die, he would be heir to the
throne. With the exception of Philip, who was King of Spain, and thus
precluded from inheriting the throne of France, all were now dead
except the infant Duke of Anjou. The death of that child would place
the crown upon the brow of Philip, duke of Orleans.

As it was evident that all these victims had died of poison, suspicion
was so directed against the Duke of Orleans that the accusation was
often hooted at him in the streets. There is, however, no convincing
evidence that he was guilty. One of the daughters of the Duke of
Orleans had married the Duke de Berri. She was as wicked as she was
beautiful, and scarcely condescended to disguise her profligacy. The
duke intercepted some letters which proved her guilty intimacy with an
officer of her household. A violent quarrel took place in the royal
presence. The husband kicked his wife with his heavy boot, and the
king lifted his cane to strike the duke.

A sort of reconciliation was effected. The duchess, who, beyond all
doubt, was a guilty woman, professed to be satisfied with the
apologies which her husband made. Soon after they went on a wolf-hunt
in the forest of Marly. Both appeared in high spirits. The run was
long. Heated by the race and thirsty, the duke asked the duchess if
she had any thing with her with which he could quench his thirst. She
drew from the pocket of her carriage a