Sorel.  His avowed intimacy with Agnes, and even, independently of her and after her death, the scandalous licentiousness of his morals, had justly offended his virtuous wife, Mary of Anjou, the only lady of the royal establishment who survived him.  She had brought him twelve children, and the eldest, the dauphin Louis, after having from his very youth behaved in a factious, harebrained, turbulent way towards the king his father, had become at one time an open rebel, at another a venomous conspirator and a dangerous enemy.  At his birth in 1423, he had been named Louis in remembrance of his ancestor, St. Louis, and in hopes that he would resemble him.  In 1440, at seventeen years of age, he allied himself with the great lords, who were displeased with the new military system established by Charles VII., and allowed himself to be drawn by them into the transient rebellion known by the name of Praguery.  When the king, having put it down, refused to receive the rebels to favor, the dauphin said to his father, “My lord, I must go back with them, then; for so I promised them.”  “Louis,” replied the king, “the gates are open, and if they are not high enough I will have sixteen or twenty fathom of wall knocked down for you, that you may go whither it seems best to you.”  Charles VII. had made his son marry Margaret Stuart of Scotland, that charming princess who was so smitten with the language and literature of France that, coming one day upon the poet Alan Chartier asleep upon a bench, she kissed him on the forehead in the presence of her mightily astonished train, for he was very ugly.  The dauphin rendered his wife so wretched that she died in 1445, at the age of one and twenty, with these words upon her lips:  “O! fie on life!  Speak to me no more of it!” In 1449, just when the king his father was taking up arms to drive the English out of Normandy, the dauphin Louis, who was now living entirely in Dauphiny, concluded at Briancon a secret league with the Duke of Savoy “against the ministers of the King of France, his enemies.”  In 1456, in order to escape from the perils brought upon him by the plots which he, in the heart of Dauphiny, was incessantly hatching against his father, Louis fled from Grenoble and went to take refuge in Brussels with the Duke of Burgundy, Philip the Good, who willingly received him, at the same time excusing himself to Charles VII. “on the ground of the respect he owed to the son of his suzerain,” and putting at the disposal of Louis, “his guest,” a pension of thirty-six thousand livres.  “He has received the fox at his court,” said Charles:  “he will soon see what will become of his chickens.”  But the pleasantries of the king did not chase away the sorrows of the father.  “Mine enemies have full trust in me,” said Charles, “but my son will have none.  If he had but once spoken with me, he would have known full well that he ought to have neither doubts nor fears.  On my royal word, if he will but come to me, when he has opened