ed them
tenderly, and, turning his fading eye to his wife, said,

"I know you sufficiently, Caroline, to be assured that, after me, you
will take care of these orphans."

The duchess responded in an action far more impressive than words.
Taking her own babe into her arms from its nurse, she drew the
unfortunate children to her bosom, and said, "Kiss your sister." It
was a noble deed. All eyes were suffused in tears. Few can read the
simple record without emotion.

The duke then received, from the bishop, absolution, repeatedly
attempting the prayer, "My God, pardon me, pardon me; and pardon the
man who has taken my life!"

Just then the king, Louis XVIII., who was very infirm, arrived. "My
uncle," said the dying man, "give me your hand, that I may kiss it
for the last time. I entreat you, in the name of my death, to spare
the life of that man."

The king replied, "You are not so ill as you suppose. We will speak
of this again."

"Ah!" exclaimed the duke, "you do not say yes. The pardon of that man
would have softened my last moments, if I could die with the
assurance that his blood would not flow after my death."

These were his last words. There was a slight gasping, a convulsive
shuddering passed over his frame, and the spirit of the duke took its
flight to the judgment-seat of Christ. The remains were conveyed,
with much funereal pageantry, to the vaults of St. Denis, the ancient
mausoleum of the kings of France. Louvel, a miserable fanatic, who
sought notoriety by the murder of a prince, expiated his crime upon
the scaffold.

Seven months after this assassination, on the 20th of September,
1820, the Duchess de Berri gave birth to a son. He was christened
Henry, duke of Bordeaux. He is now known as the Count de Chambord,
the _Legitimist_ candidate for the throne of France. Indeed the
Legitimists regard him as their lawful sovereign, though in exile,
and give him the title of Henry V.

Louis XVIII. retained the throne, upon which the Allies had placed
him, for eight years, until his death. He was a good-natured,
kind-hearted old man, but so infirm from gout and excessive obesity,
that he could with difficulty walk, and he was wheeled around his
saloons in a chair. Lamartine, whose poetic nature ever bowed almost
with adoration before hereditary royalty, gives the following
pleasing account of his character:

"His natural talent, cultivated, reflective, and quick, full
of recollections, rich in a