“I have often met your father, M. de Mortemart,” said he, “at President Tambonneaux’s.  One day the little De Bouillons were there, quarrelling about his sword, and to the younger he said, ’You, sir, shall go into the Church, because you squint.  Let my sword alone; here’s my rosary.’”

“Well,” quoth the King, “M. de Mortemart was a true prophet, for that little Bouillon fellow is to-day Cardinal de Bouillon.”

“Sire,” continued the worthy German, “I am rejoiced to hear such news.  And little Peguilain de Lauzun, of whom you used to be so fond when you were both boys,—­where is he?  What rank does he now hold?”

Hereupon the King looked at Mademoiselle, who, greatly confused, shed tears.

“Well, M. Bailiff,” said his Majesty, “did you easily recognise me at first sight?”

“Sire,” replied the German, “your physiognomy is precisely the same; when a boy, you looked more serious.  The day you entered Parliament in hunting-dress I saw you get into your coach; and that evening the President said to his wife, ’Madame, we are going to have a King.  I wish you could have been there, in one of the domes, just to hear the little he said to us.’”

Whereupon the King laughingly inquired what reply the President’s wife made.  But the bailiff, smiling in his turn, seemed afraid to repeat it, and so his Majesty said: 

“I was told of her answer at the time, so I can let you know what it was.  ‘Your young King will turn out a despot.’  That is what Madame la Presidente said to her husband.”

The bailiff, somewhat confused, admitted that this was exactly the case.

The huge bridge at Brisach, across the Rhine, had no railing; the planks were in a rickety condition, and through fissures one caught sight of the impetuous rush of waters below.  We all got out of our coaches and crossed over with our eyes half shut, so dangerous did it seem; while the King rode across this wretched bridge,—­one of the narrowest and loftiest that there is, and which is always in motion.

Next day the Bishop of Bale came to pay his respects to the Queen, and was accompanied by delegates from the Swiss cantons, and other notabilities.  After this I heard the “General of the Capucins” announced, who had just been to pay a visit of greeting to the German Court.  He was said to be by birth a Roman.  Strange to say, for that Capucin the same ceremony and fuss was made as for a sovereign prince, and I heard that this was a time-honoured privilege enjoyed by his Order.  The monk himself was a fine man, wearing several decorations; his carriage, livery, and train seemed splendid, nor did he lack ease of manner nor readiness of conversation.  He told us that, at the imperial palace in Vienna, he had seen the Princesse d’Inspruck,—­a relative of the French Queen, and that the Emperor was bringing her up as if destined one day to be his seventh bride, according to a prediction.  He also stated that the Emperor had made the young Princess sing to him,—­a Capucin monk; and added genially that she was comely and graceful, and that he had been very pleased to see her.