of a body which had acted, fought, and breathed for me.
"By a bold, almost desperate march, I passed through Cromwell's army, and entered England. The Protector set out in pursuit of this strange flight, which had a crown for its object. If I had been able to reach London before him, without doubt the prize of the race would have been mine; but he overtook me at Worcester.
"The genius of England was no longer with us, but with him. On the 5th of September, 1651, sire, the anniversary of the other battle of Dunbar, so fatal to the Scots, I was conquered. Two thousand men fell around me before I thought of retreating a step. At length I was obliged to fly.
"From that moment my history became a romance. Pursued with persistent inveteracy, I cut off my hair, I disguised myself as a woodman. One day spent amidst the branches of an oak gave to that tree the name of the royal oak, which it bears to this day. My adventures in the county of Stafford, whence I escaped with the daughter of my host on a pillion behind me, still fill the tales of the country firesides, and would furnish matter for ballads. I will some day write all this, sire, for the instruction of my brother kings.
"I will first tell how, on arriving at the residence of Mr. Norton, I met with a court chaplain, who was looking on at a party playing at skittles, and an old servant who named me, bursting into tears, and who was as near and as certainly killing me by his fidelity as another might have been by treachery. Then I will tell of my terrors – yes, sire, of my terrors – when, at the house of Colonel Windham, a farrier who came to shoe our horses declared they had been shod in the north."
"How strange!" murmured Louis XIV. "I never heard anything of all that; I was only told of your embarkation at Brighthelmstone and your landing in Normandy."
"Oh!" exclaimed Charles, "if Heaven permits kings to be thus ignorant of the histories of each other, how can they render assistance to their brothers who need it?"
"But tell me," continued Louis XIV., "how, after being so roughly received in England, you can still hope for anything from that unhappy country and that rebellious people?"
"Oh, sire! since the battle of Worcester, everything is changed there. Cromwell is dead, after having signed a treaty with France, in which his name is placed above yours. He died on the 5th of September, 1658, a fresh anniversary of the battles of Dunbar and Worcester."
"His son has succeeded him."
"But certain men have a family, sire, and no heir. The inheritance of Oliver was too heavy for Richard. Richard was neither a republican nor a royalist; Richard allowed his guards to eat his dinner, and his generals to govern the republic; Richard abdicated the protectorate on the 22nd of April, 1659, more than a year ago, sire.
"From that time England is nothing but a tennis-court, in which the players throw dice for the crown of my father. The two most eager players are Lambert and Monk. Well, sire, I, in my turn, wish to take part in this game, where the stakes are thrown upon my royal mantle. Sire, it only requires a million to corrupt one of these players and make an ally of him, or two hundred of your gentlemen to drive them out of my palace at Whitehall, as Christ drove the money-changers from the temple."
"You come, then," replied Louis XIV., "to ask me – "
"For your assistance, that is to say, not only for that which kings owe to each other, but that which simple Christians owe to each other – your assistance, sire, either in money or men. Your assistance, sire, and within a month, whether I oppose Lambert to Monk, or Monk to Lambert, I shall have reconquered my paternal inheritance, without having cost my country a guinea, or my subjects a drop of blood, for they are now all drunk with revolutions, protectorates, and republics, and ask nothing better than to fall staggering to sleep in the arms of royalty. Your assistance, sire, and I shall owe you more than I owe my father, – my poor father, who bought at so dear a rate the ruin of our house! You may judge, sire, whether I am unhappy, whether I am in despair, for I accuse my own father!"
And the blood mounted to the pale face of Charles II., who remained for an instant with his head between his hands, and as if blinded by that blood which appeared to revolt against the filial blasphemy.
The young king was not less affected than his elder brother; he threw himself about in his fauteuil, and could not find a single word of reply.
Charles II., to whom ten years in age gave a superior strength to master his emotions, recovered his speech the first.
"Sire," said he, "your reply? I wait for it as a criminal waits for his sentence. Must I die?"
"My brother," replied the French prince, "you ask me for a million – me, who was never possessed of a quarter of that sum! I possess nothing. I am no more king of France than you are king of England. I am a name, a cipher dressed in fleur-de-lised velvet, – that is all. I am upon a visible throne; that is my only advantage over your majesty. I have nothing – I can do nothing."
"Can it be so?" exclaimed Charles II.
"My brother," said Louis, sinking his voice, "I have undergone miseries with which my poorest gentlemen are unacquainted. If my poor Laporte were here, he would tell you that I have slept in ragged sheets, through the holes of which my legs have passed; he would tell you that afterwards, when I asked for carriages, they brought me conveyances half-destroyed by the rats of the coach-houses; he would tell you that when I asked for my dinner, the servants went to the cardinal's kitchen to inquire if there were any dinner for the king. And look! to-day, this very day even, when I am twenty-two years of age, – to-day, when I have attained the grade of the majority of kings, – to-day, when I ought to have the key of the treasury, the direction of the policy, the supremacy in peace and war, – cast your eyes around me, see how I am left! Look at this abandonment – this disdain – this silence! – Whilst yonder – look yonder! View the bustle, the lights, the homage! There! – there you see the real king of France, my brother!
"In the cardinal's apartments?"
"Yes, in the cardinal's apartments."
"Then I am condemned, sire?"
Louis XIV. made no reply.
"Condemned is the word; for I will never solicit him who left my mother and sister to die with cold and hunger – the daughter and grand-daughter of Henry IV. – if M. de Retz and the parliament had not sent them wood and bread."
"To die?" murmured Louis XIV.
"Well!" continued the king of England, "poor Charles II., grandson of Henry IV. as you are, sire, having neither parliament nor Cardinal de Retz to apply to, will die of hunger, as his mother and sister had nearly done."
Louis knitted his brow, and twisted violently the lace of his ruffles.
This prostration, this immobility, serving as a mark to an emotion so visible, struck Charles II., and he took the young man's hand.
"Thanks!" said he, "my brother. You pity me, and that is all I can require of you in your present situation."
"Sire," said Louis XIV., with a sudden impulse, and raising his head, "it is a million you require, or two hundred gentlemen, I think you say?"
"Sire, a million would be quite sufficient."
"That is very little."
"Offered to a single man it is a great deal. Convictions have been purchased at a much lower price; and I should have nothing to do but with venalities."
"Two hundred gentlemen! Reflect! – that is little more than a single company."
"Sire,
