d; him endless Oblivion cannot engulf, and swallow to
endless depths,--not yet for a generation or two.

However, be this as it will, we remark, not without interest, that 'on
the evening of the 4th,' Dame Dubarry issues from the sick-room, with
perceptible 'trouble in her visage.' It is the fourth evening of May,
year of Grace 1774. Such a whispering in the Oeil-de-Boeuf! Is he dying
then? What can be said is, that Dubarry seems making up her packages;
she sails weeping through her gilt boudoirs, as if taking leave.
D'Aiguilon and Company are near their last card; nevertheless they will
not yet throw up the game. But as for the sacramental controversy, it is
as good as settled without being mentioned; Louis can send for his Abbe
Moudon in the course of next night, be confessed by him, some say for
the space of 'seventeen minutes,' and demand the sacraments of his own
accord.

Nay, already, in the afternoon, behold is not this your Sorceress
Dubarry with the handkerchief at her eyes, mounting D'Aiguillon's
chariot; rolling off in his Duchess's consolatory arms? She is gone;
and her place knows her no more. Vanish, false Sorceress; into Space!
Needless to hover at neighbouring Ruel; for thy day is done. Shut are
the royal palace-gates for evermore; hardly in coming years shalt
thou, under cloud of night, descend once, in black domino, like a black
night-bird, and disturb the fair Antoinette's music-party in the Park:
all Birds of Paradise flying from thee, and musical windpipes growing
mute. (Campan, i. 197.) Thou unclean, yet unmalignant, not unpitiable
thing! What a course was thine: from that first trucklebed (in Joan of
Arc's country) where thy mother bore thee, with tears, to an unnamed
father: forward, through lowest subterranean depths, and over highest
sunlit heights, of Harlotdom and Rascaldom--to the guillotine-axe, which
shears away thy vainly whimpering head! Rest there uncursed; only buried
and abolished: what else befitted thee?

Louis, meanwhile, is in considerable impatience for his sacraments;
sends more than once to the window, to see whether they are not coming.
Be of comfort, Louis, what comfort thou canst: they are under way,
those sacraments. Towards six in the morning, they arrive. Cardinal
Grand-Almoner Roche-Aymon is here, in pontificals, with his pyxes and
his tools; he approaches the royal pillow; elevates his wafer; mutters
or seems to mutter somewhat;--and so (as the Abbe Georgel, in words