duty." "Most willingly, Sir," replied the Regent; "your services are no
longer required;" and he forthwith explained to the Parliament his
intention of governing affairs according to the plan which had been found
among the papers of the Duke of Burgundy. "Those gentry know little or
nothing of the French, and of the way to govern them," had been the
remark of Louis XIV. on reading the schemes of Fenelon, the Duke of
Beauvilliers, and St. Simon. The Parliament applauded the formation of
the six councils of foreign affairs, of finance, of war, of the marine,
of home or the interior, of conscience or ecclesiastical affairs; the
Regent was intrusted with the free disposal of graces. "I want to be
free for good," said he, adroitly repeating a phrase from Telemaque, "I
consent to have my hands tied for evil."

The victory was complete. Not a shred remained of Louis XIV.'s will.
The Duke of Maine, confounded and humiliated, retired to his Castle of
Sceaux, there to endure the reproaches of his wife. The king's affection
and Madame de Maintenon's clever tactics had not sufficed to found his
power; the remaining vestiges of his greatness were themselves about to
vanish before long in their turn.

[Illustration: The Bed of Justice----57]

On the 12th of September, the little king held a bed of justice; his
governess, Madame de Ventadour, sat alone at the feet of the poor orphan,
abandoned on the pinnacle of power. All the decisions of September 2
were ratified in the child's name. Louis XIV. had just descended to the
tomb without pomp and without regret. The joy of the people broke out
indecently as the funeral train passed by; the nation had forgotten the
glory of the great king; it remembered only the evils which had for so
long oppressed it during his reign.