longer any family, or relatives, or resources.  For a while the Protestants thought they saw their advantage in the clemency with which the new reign appeared to be inaugurated, and began to meet again in their assemblies; the Regent had some idea of doing them justice, re-establishing the Edict of Nantes, and re-opening to the exiles the doors of their country, but his councillors dissuaded him; the more virtuous, like St. Simon, from Catholic piety, the more depraved from policy and indifference.  However, the lot of the Protestants remained under the Regency less hard than it had been under Louis XIV., and than it became under the Duke of Bourbon.

The chancellor, Voysin, had just died.  To this post the Regent summoned the attorney-general, D’Aguesseau, beloved and esteemed of all, learned, eloquent, virtuous, but too exclusively a man of Parliament for the functions which had been confided to him.  “He would have made a sublime premier president,” said St. Simon, who did not like him.  The magistrate was attending mass at St. Andre-des-Arts; he was not ignorant of the chancellor’s death, when a valet came in great haste to inform him that the Regent wanted him at the Palais-Royal.  D’Aguesseau piously heard out the remainder of the mass before obeying the prince’s orders.  The casket containing the seals was already upon the table.  The Duke of Orleans took the attorney-general by the arm and, going out with him into the gallery thronged with courtiers, said, “Gentlemen, here is your new and most worthy chancellor!” and he took him away with him to the Tuileries, to pay his respects to the little king.

On returning home, still all in a whirl, D’Aguesseau went up to the room of his brother, “M. de Valjouan, a sort of Epicurean (voluptueux) philosopher, with plenty of wit and learning, but altogether one of the oddest creatures.”  He found him in his dressing-gown, smoking in front of the fire.  “Brother,” said he, as he entered, “I have come to tell you that I am chancellor.”  “Chancellor!” said the other, turning round; “and what have you done with the other one?” “He died suddenly to-night.”  “O, very well, brother, I am very glad; I would rather it were you than I;” and he resumed his pipe.  Madame D’Aguesseau was better pleased.  Her husband has eulogized her handsomely.  “A wife like mine,” he said, “is a good man’s highest reward.”

The new system of government, as yet untried, and confided to men for the most part little accustomed to affairs, had to put up with the most formidable difficulties, and to struggle against the most painful position.  The treasury was empty, and the country exhausted; the army was not paid, and the most honorable men, such as the Duke of St. Simon, saw no other remedy for the evils of the state but a total bankruptcy, and the convocation of the States-general.  Both expedients were equally repugnant to the Duke of Orleans.  The Duke of Noailles had entered upon a course of