when the kingdom was invaded by the levelling doctrines of
Republicanism and equality. And though the Kalonays were men
of stouter stuff than their cousins of Artois, they had never
tried to usurp their place, but had set an example to the
humblest shepherd of unfailing loyalty and good-will to the
King and his lady. The Prince Kalonay, who had accompanied
the Dominican monk to Messina, was the last of his race, and
when Louis IV. had been driven off the island, he had followed
his sovereign into exile as a matter of course, and with his
customary good-humor. His estates, in consequence of this
step, had been taken up by the Republic, and Kalonay had
accepted the loss philosophically as the price one pays for
loving a king. He found exile easy to bear in Paris, and
especially so as he had never relinquished the idea that some
day the King would return to his own again. So firmly did he
believe in this, and so keenly was his heart set upon it, that
Louis had never dared to let him know that for himself exile
in Paris and the Riviera was vastly to be preferred to
authority over a rocky island hung with fogs, and inhabited by
dull merchants and fierce banditti.

The conduct of the King during their residence in Paris would
have tried the loyalty of one less gay and careless than
Kalonay, for he was a sorry monarch, and if the principle that
"the King can do no wrong" had not been bred in the young
Prince's mind, he would have deserted his sovereign in the
early days of their exile. But as it was, he made excuses for
him to others and to himself, and served the King's idle
purposes so well that he gained for himself the name of the
King's jackal, and there were some who regarded him as little