rench sit round the table, it is
not like a king dining with his subjects, but like half a hundred kings
dining with one subject." Allowing for a certain amount of exaggeration,
there was a good deal of truth in the remarks, as I found out
afterwards. "The bourgeoisie in their attitude towards me," said
Louis-Philippe, one day, to the English nobleman I have just quoted,
"are always reminding me of Adalberon of Rheims with Hugues Capet: 'Qui
t'as fait roi?' asked the bishop. 'Qui t'as fait duc?' retorted the
king. I have made them dukes to a greater extent, though, than they have
made me king."

For Louis-Philippe was a witty king--wittier, perhaps, than any that had
sat on the throne of France since Henri IV. Some of his mots have become
historical, and even his most persistent detractors have been unable to
convict him of plagiarism with regard to them. What he specially
excelled in was the "mot de la fin" anglice--the clenching of an
argument, such as, for instance, his final remark on the death of
Talleyrand. He had paid him a visit the day before. When the news of the
prince's death was brought to him, he said, "Are you sure he is dead?"

"Very sure, sire," was the answer. "Why, did not your majesty himself
notice yesterday that he was dying?"

"I did, but there is no judging from appearances with Talleyrand, and I
have been asking myself for the last four and twenty hours what interest
he could possibly have in departing at this particular moment."

To those who knew Louis-Philippe personally, it was very patent that he
disliked those who had been instrumental in setting him on the throne,
and who, under the cloak of "liberty, fraternity, and equality," were
seeking their own interest only, namely, the bourgeoisie. He knew their
quasi-goodwill to him to be so much sheer hypocrisy, and perhaps he and
they were too much alike in some respects, in their love of money for
the sake of hoarding it. It was, perhaps, the only serious failing that
could be laid to the charge of the family, because none of its members,
with the exception of the Duc d'Orleans, were entirely free from it. It
must not be inferred, though, that Louis-Philippe kept his purse closed
to really deserving cases of distress. Far from it. I have the following
story from my old tutor, to whom I am, moreover, indebted for a great
many notes, dealing with events of which I could not possibly have had
any knowledge but for him.

In 1829 the greater p