They followed him. He passed through the apartments. On the
threshold of the royal chamber Madame de Gontaut brought to
Charles X. the Duke of Bordeaux and Mademoiselle and he embraced
them. The poor children were disconcerted by so much sadness. "As
soon as I can," he said to them, "I promise to come to see you."
Then turning to the company: "I would be alone." All withdrew in
silence. The Dauphiness was weeping. The Dauphin had disappeared.
Everything was gloomy. No one spoke. Thus passed the first day of
the reign of Charles X.

The next day the King received the felicitations of the Corps de
l'Etat. Many addresses were delivered. "All contained the
expression of the public love," said Marshal Marmont in his
Memoirs, "and I believe that they were sincere; but the love of
the people is, of all loves, the most fragile, the most apt to
evaporate. The King responded in an admirable manner, with
appropriateness, intelligence, and warmth. His responses, less
correct, perhaps, than those of Louis XVIII., had movement and
spirit, and it is so precious to hear from those invested with the
sovereign powers things that come from the heart, that Charles X.
had a great success. I listened to him with care, and I sincerely
admired his facility in varying his language and modifying his
expressions according to the eminence of the authority from whom
the compliments came."

The reception lasted several hours. When the coaches had rolled
away and when quiet was re-established in the Chateau of Saint
Cloud, Charles X., in the mourning costume of the Kings, the
violet coat, went to the apartment of the Duke of Bordeaux and his
sister. The usher cried: "The King!" The two children, frightened,