“No, Sir, I will not think of it!” cried the old warrior in a passion. “I will not think of it—to-day, at least.”
“You are right, my brave friend: in the grave let us bury even public wrongs; but let us not bury their remembrance. May the joy we read in every face that we pass—joy at the death of one whom idolatry once almost seemed to deem immortal—be a lesson to future kings!”
My comrade did not immediately answer; but, after a pause and we had turned our 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.