CHAPTER 1.1.IV.
Louis the Unforgotten.
Poor Louis! With these it is a hollow phantasmagory, where like mimes they mope and mowl, and utter false sounds for hire; but with thee it is frightful earnest.
Frightful to all men is Death; from of old named King of Terrors.

Our little compact home of an Existence, where we dwelt complaining, yet as in a home, is passing, in dark agonies, into an Unknown of Separation, Foreignness, unconditioned Possibility.

The Heathen Emperor asks of his soul: Into what places art thou now departing?
The Catholic King must answer: To the Judgment-bar of the Most High God! Yes, it is a summing-up of Life; a final settling, and giving-in the 'account of the deeds done in the body:' they are done now; and lie there unalterable, and do bear their fruits, long as Eternity shall last.
Louis XV.

had always the kingliest abhorrence of Death.

Unlike that praying Duke of Orleans, Egalite's grandfather,--for indeed several of them had a touch of madness,--who honesty believed that there was no Death! He, if the Court Newsmen can be believed, started up once on a time, glowing with sulphurous contempt and indignation on his poor Secretary, who had stumbled on the words, feu roi d'Espagne (the late King of Spain): "Feu roi, Monsieur ?"--"Monseigneur," hastily answered the trembling but adroit man of business, "c'est une titre qu'ils prennent ('tis a title they take)." (Besenval, i.