dying man to make a sign if he could still understand what was said
to him. On this admonition and in reply to his son's prayers, Philip
turned his eyes to Charles, looked at him and pressed the hand which
was laid upon his own, but further token was beyond his strength. The
count stayed by his side until he breathed his last.

Thus ended the life of a man who had been a striking figure in Europe
for forty years. His most fervent dream, indeed, had never been
fulfilled. All his pompous vows to wrest the Holy Land from the
invading Turks had proved vain. Many years had passed since he had
had military success of any kind, and even in his earlier life his
successes had been owing to diplomacy and to a happy conjunction
of circumstances rather than to skilful generalship. He possessed
pre-eminently the power of personality.

When Duke John of Burgundy fell on the bridge at Montereau and Philip
came into his heritage, Henry V. of England was in the full flush of
his prosperity, standing triumphant over England and France, and in a
position to make good his claim with three stalwart brothers to back
him. All these young men had died prematurely. Their only descendant
was Henry VI., and that meagre and wretched representative of the
ambitious Henry V. had had no spark of the character of his father and
uncles. The one vigorous element in his life was his wife, Margaret
of Anjou, who diligently exerted herself to keep her husband on his
throne. In vain were her efforts. By 1467, Edward of York was on that
throne. Gone, too, was Charles VII., whose father's acts had clouded
his early, whose son darkened his latter years.

Out of his group of contemporaries, Duke Philip alone had marched
steadily to every desired goal. His epitaph gave a fairly accurate