dreadful visitations in store. Fancy the party, in the days of their
prosperity, here gathered at Trianon, and seated under the tall poplars by
the lake, discoursing familiarly together: suppose, of a sudden, some
conjuring Cagliostro of the time is introduced among them, and foretells
to them the woes that are about to come.

"You, Monsieur l'Aumonier, the descendant of a long line of princes, the
passionate admirer of that fair queen who sits by your side, shall be the
cause of her ruin and your own, [Footnote: In the diamond-necklace
affair.] and shall die in disgrace and exile. You, son of the Condes,
shall live long enough to see your royal race overthrown, and shall die by
the hands of a hangman. [Footnote: He was found hanging in his own bed-
room.] You, oldest son of St. Louis, shall perish by the executioner's ax;
that beautiful head, O Antoinette, the same ruthless blade shall sever."

"They shall kill me first," says Lamballe, at the queen's side.

"Yes, truly," says the soothsayer, "for Fate prescribes ruin for your
mistress and all who love her."

[Footnote: Among the many lovers that rumor gave to the Queen, poor Fersen
is the most remarkable. He seems to have entertained for her a high and
perfectly pure devotion. He was the chief agent in the luckless escape to
Varennes; was lurking in Paris during the time of her captivity; and was
concerned in the many fruitless plots that were made for her rescue.
Fersen lived to be an old man, but died a dreadful and violent death. He
was dragged from his carriage by the mob. In Stockholm, and murdered by
them.--Author's note.]

"And," cries Monsieur d'Artois, "do I not love my sister, too? I pray you