halls. Yes! if they remembered it better during their lives, the nations would recall it with less joy at their death. Do you think that this will not be the case when-"

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Softly, softly!" exclaimed some of Claude's auditors anxiously. They understood from his gesture that he was about to say "when the king dies," and their blood froze at the mere idea of hearing these words,

"We are alone," resumed the minister; "and suppose he should hear us. Please God-"

He lowered his voice a little, however.

"Well; we will leave that. No; we will not speak of his death. He lives, and perhaps none of us may outlive him. But only see, see with what terrible fidelity the prophet seems to have traced his portrait. Be assured that the moment will come when, in that absolute power under which she seems at present to be ́proud and happy to stoop, France will see nothing but a frightful despotism. Be assured that these wars by means of which he would make himself the hero of all Europe-"

The circle drew closer together around Claude. They scarcely breathed; and uneasy and frightened glances were cast on every side. If any one had appeared at the end of the Avenue, the whole assembly would have dispersed in an instant. It seemed as if they expected to see the king start up out of the earth, at the spot where they had seen him the evening before.

Claude continued; he enjoyed their terror. He repeated all he had written two years before to Bourdaloue, in regard to the ambition, the faults, the vices of the king. "And what man," he said finally, "what man ever possessed more pride! The only duty, the only right of others, in his eyes, is to labor for his pleasures, for his glory, for the plans of magnificence projected by him. Oh yes, the cedars of Lebanon shall rejoice at his fall,' for nature itself has felt the burthen of his yoke. This soil

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upon which we here stand, was brought here; these trees,-it was wished to spare the sovereign the fatigue of seeing them grow large; so they were planted as they are, and for every one that flourished, ten died. And he is made to believe that France is proud to pay for these enormous expenditures; while they will one day perhaps be the bitterest grievances of which the nation will complain, and which history will record. And all these kings whom he has conquered,-all those whom he threatens or humiliates,—do you think it will not be a consolation, a triumph to their incensed hearts, to realize one day, in the depths of the grave, the gloomy fiction of the prophet, Thou also art become weak as we! Thou art become like unto us!"

Claude was silent. His listeners, by look, manner, and movement, had long implored him to cease. Fénélon and his uncle, together with Bossuet, were the only ones who had not visibly trembled; yet it was easy to see that the Marquis himself was stupified at the boldness of the minister. Perhaps it may seem surprising that so grave a man as Claude should so far quit the respect generally imposed by the name of Louis XIV. even upon the most independent spirits. But, in the very strongest things he had said, there was perceptible neither the spirit of a malcontent taking pleasure in speaking evil of his king, nor of a morose philosopher, happy to degrade that which seems great; he was simply a friend of religion, lamenting to see its holiest laws trampled under foot by one calling himself most Christian king. Besides, he had only ecclesiastics for his auditors, save one person, whom he was sure of not displeasing by an excess of severity. He had, then, no reason not to believe them actuated, at least in secret, by the same feelings with himself; a physician talking to physicians, he had not dreamed of cloaking either words or facts. Oh! if he had been able to go yet further, if God had opened his eyes for an instant to the mysteries

of the future, what terrible resemblances would he have added to those with which the prophet had already furnished him! And when he read these terrible words; "But thou art cast out of thy grave like an abominable branch, as a carcase trodden under feet," would not his tongue have stiffened in his jaws, if he could have suspected that this, word for word, was the terrible history of that which, one hundred and eighteen years after, was to hap pen to the desecrated remains of Louis the Great?

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CHAPTER XXIV.

THE UNEASINESS OF BOURDALOUE AND BOSSUET.

BOURDALOUE had had time enough since the evening before, to be thinking within himself of all that Claude had just said. A new world had, as it were, been opened to his eyes. The king, the court, his own ministry, all appeared to him more or less under a different aspect.

Thus he had not been able to close his eyes. The night before preaching, this was generally the case; but his sleeplessness this time, had left a sensible anguish behind it. All night he had sighed for the day; the day, when it appeared, brought him no relief.

On the contrary, as the hour approached, he felt more and more agitated; he began to despair of himself. In vain he forced himself from time to time, to seek more calmly for the motives of his apprehensions, in vain he repeated to himself, that after all, it was only a rather more severe sermon than usual. An undefined anguish is only the more painful and tenacious from that very reason. The unreasonableness of your apprehensions

is proved to you; you admit it, and you do not cease, neverless, to be anxious. The scenes of the preceding evening, Bossuet, Claude, the appeals of his conscience, the fact, so extraordinary for him, of delivering another's words from the pulpit, and finally the immense commotion which his words might pro

duce, all these things contributed to keep him in a state in which he had never yet felt himself, in which he would not have believed he ever could find himself.

However, the hours of the day dragged on scarcely less heavily than those of the night, and he was not to ascend the pulpit until vespers, that is to say, about four o'clock in the afternoon. Sometimes he set about reading his sermon, but it was only with his eyes and lips; sometimes he undertook to recite it, but after a few lines he ceased, and did not remember to go on again. Finally, he went out, but without object, and only for the sake of going out.

In passing the chateau the idea struck him that he would take a turn in the park. Our council was still there, with the exception of Claude, who had just taken leave.

His visit was quite unexpected, and none was more surprised at it than Bossuet. "What is it? What has happened?" he asked, endeavoring to be overheard by no other.

"What has happened? Nothing. I stood in need of a little fresh air."

"God be praised! I trembled lest it should be to-" "To what?"

"I scarcely know; but at any rate I was afraid it might be something. That would have been all that was wanting to—" "All that was wanting, you say? Something then already-" "No, that is to say, however—”

"There is something, I see "

"Well, yes, something. But why did you come? It would have been a thousand times better that you should not know it-"

"Perhaps. But since that cannot be, tell me. about? Do not leave me in-"

"I have seen the king again."

What is it