sorrowful and contemptuous burial, and the body of Louis
XVI. was found in a desolate corner of the grave-yard of St. Roch, and
in another place also that of Queen Marie Antoinette.

It was the king's wish, and a perfectly natural and just one, to inter
these bodies in the royal vault at St. Denis, but he wished to do it
quietly and without pomp; his acute political tact taught him that these
sad remains should not be made the occasion of a political
demonstration, and that it was unwise to permit the bones of Louis XVI.
to become a new apple of discord.

But the king's court, even his nearest relatives, his ministers, and the
whole troop of arrogant courtiers, who desired, by means of an
ostentatious interment, not only to show a proper respect for the
beheaded royal pair, but also to punish those whom they covertly called
"regicides," and whom they were nevertheless now compelled to
tolerate--the king's entire court demanded a solemn and ceremonious
interment; and Louis, who, as he himself had said, "was king, but not
master," was compelled to yield to this demand.

Preparations were therefore made for an ostentatious interment of the
royal remains, and it was determined that the melancholy rites should
take place on the 21st of January, 1815, the anniversary of painful
memories and unending regret for the royal family.

M. de Chateaubriand, the noble and intelligent eulogist and friend of
the Bourbons, caused an article to be inserted in the _Journal des
Debats_, in which he announced the impending ceremony. This article was
then republished in pamphlet form; and so great was the sympathy of the
Parisians in the approaching event, that thirty thousand copies were
disposed of, in Paris alone, in one day.

On the 20th of January the graves of the martyrs were opened, and all
the princes of the royal house who were present, knelt down at the edge
of the grave to mingle their prayers with those of the thousands who had
accompanied them to the church-yard.

But the king was right. This act, that appeared to some to be a mere act
of justice, seemed an insult to others, and reminded them of the dark
days of error and fanaticism, in which they had allowed themselves to be
drawn into the vortex of the general delirium. Many of those who in the
Assembly had voted for the death of the king, were now residing at
Paris, and even at court, as for instance Fouche, and to them the
approaching ceremony seemed an insult.

"Are