interest so dear and tender that this Surname of Bien-aime fashioned
itself, a title higher still than all the rest which this great Prince
has earned.' (Abrege Chronologique de l'Histoire de France (Paris,
1775), p. 701.)

So stands it written; in lasting memorial of that year 1744. Thirty
other years have come and gone; and 'this great Prince' again lies
sick; but in how altered circumstances now! Churches resound not with
excessive groanings; Paris is stoically calm: sobs interrupt no prayers,
for indeed none are offered; except Priests' Litanies, read or chanted
at fixed money-rate per hour, which are not liable to interruption. The
shepherd of the people has been carried home from Little Trianon, heavy
of heart, and been put to bed in his own Chateau of Versailles: the
flock knows it, and heeds it not. At most, in the immeasurable tide of
French Speech (which ceases not day after day, and only ebbs towards the
short hours of night), may this of the royal sickness emerge from time
to time as an article of news. Bets are doubtless depending; nay, some
people 'express themselves loudly in the streets.' (Memoires de M. le
Baron Besenval (Paris, 1805), ii. 59-90.) But for the rest, on green
field and steepled city, the May sun shines out, the May evening fades;
and men ply their useful or useless business as if no Louis lay in
danger.

Dame Dubarry, indeed, might pray, if she had a talent for it; Duke
d'Aiguillon too, Maupeou and the Parlement Maupeou: these, as they sit
in their high places, with France harnessed under their feet, know well
on what basis they continue there. Look to it, D'Aiguillon; sharply
as thou didst, from the Mill of St. Cast, on Quiberon and the invading
English; thou, 'covered if not with glory yet with meal!' Fortune was
ever accounted inconstant: and each dog has but his day.