"She is weeping, my child," said the queen—" she is weeping, because your brother, who was the dauphin, has left us."
"And will he never come back?" asked the child, eagerly.
"No, Louis, he never will come back."
The boy threw both his arms around the neck of the queen. "Ah!" he cried, "how can any one ever leave his dear mamma and never come back? I will never leave you, mamma!"
"I pray God you speak the truth," sighed the queen, pressing him tenderly to herself. "I pray God I may die before you both!"
"Not before me—oh, not before me!" ejaculated the king, shuddering.
"Without you, my dear one, my life were a desert; without you, the
King of France were the poorest man in the whole land!"
He smiled sadly at her. "And with me he will perhaps be the most unfortunate one," she whispered softly, as if to herself.
"Never unfortunate, if you are with me, and if you love me," cried the king, warmly. "Weep no more; we must overcome our grief, and comfort ourselves with what remains. I say to you once more: the dauphin is dead, long live the dauphin!"
"Papa king," said the boy, quickly, "you say the dauphin is dead, and has left us. Has he taken every thing away with him that belongs to him?"
"No, my son, he has left every thing. You are now the dauphin, and some time will be King of France, for you are the heir of your brother."