made upon me.

But the first event that really is exceedingly clear in my recollection
is a family dinner given by Louis XVIII. at the Tuileries on Twelfth
Night, 1824. Even now, sixty-six years after, I can see every detail of
that party, as if it had been yesterday. Our arrival in the courtyard of
the Tuileries, under the salute of the Swiss Guard at the Pavillon
Marsan and the King's Guard at the Pavillon de Flore. Our getting out of
the carriage under the porch of the stone staircase to the deafening
rattle of the drums of the Cent Suisses. Then my huge astonishment when
we had to stand aside halfway up the stairs, to let "La viande du Roi,"
in other words, his Majesty's dinner, pass by, as it was being carried
up from the kitchen to the first floor, escorted by his bodyguard.

At the head of the stairs we were received by a red-coated Steward of
the Household, who, as I was told, bore the name of de Cosse, and,
crossing the Salle des Gardes, we were ushered into the drawing-room,
where the whole family soon assembled: to wit, Monsieur, who afterwards
became Charles X., the Duc and Duchesse d'Angouleme, the Duchesse de
Berri, my father and mother, my aunt Adelaide, my two elder brothers,
Chartres and Nemours, my three sisters, Louise, Marie, and Clementine,
and last and youngest of all, myself. There was only one person present
who did not belong to the Royal House of France, and that was the Prince
de Carignan, afterwards known as Charles Albert, a tall, thin, severe-
looking person. He had just served in the ranks of the French army, with
all the proverbial valour of his race, through the Spanish campaign of
1823, and he wore on his uniform that evening the worsted epaulettes
given him on the field of battle by the men of the 4th Regiment of the
Guard, with whom he had fought in the assault on the Trocadero.
Presently the door of the King's study opened, and Louis XVIII.