At seven o’clock the police commissary ordered the body to be taken up, and that they should proceed to the cemetery.  It was the season of the longest days, and therefore the interment did not take place in secrecy and at night, as some misinformed narrators have said or written; it took place in broad daylight, and attracted a great concourse of people before the gates of the Temple palace.  One of the municipals wished to have the coffin carried out secretly by the door opening into the chapel enclosure; but M. Duaser, police commiasary, who was specially entrusted with the arrangement of the ceremony, opposed this indecorous measure, and the procession passed out through the great gate.  The crowd that was pressing round was kept back, and compelled to keep a line, by a tricoloured ribbon, held at short distances by gendarmes.  Compassion and sorrow were impressed on every countenance.

A small detachment of the troops of the line from the garrison of Paris, sent by the authorities, was waiting to serve as an escort.  The bier, still covered with the pall, was carried on a litter on the shoulders of four men, who relieved each other two at a time; it was preceded by six or eight men, headed by a sergeant.  The procession was accompanied a long way by the crowd, and a great number of persona followed it even to the cemetery.  The name of “Little Capet,” and the more popular title of Dauphin, spread from lip to lip, with exclamations of pity and compassion.  The funeral entered the cemetery of Ste. Marguerite, not by the church, as some accounts assert, but by the old gate of the cemetery.  The interment was made in the corner, on the left, at a distance of eight or nine feet from the enclosure wall, and at an equal distance from a small house, which subsequently served as a school.  The grave was filled up,—­no mound marked its place, and not even a trace remained of the interment!  Not till then did the commissaries of police and the municipality withdraw, and enter the house opposite the church to draw up the declaration of interment.  It was nearly nine o’clock, and still daylight.

Release of Madame Royale.—­Her Marriage to the Duc d’Angouleme.  —­Return to France.—­Death.

The last person to hear of the sad events in the Temple was the one for whom they had the deepest and most painful interest.  After her brother’s death the captivity of Madame Royale was much lightened.  She was allowed to walk in the Temple gardens, and to receive visits from some ladies of the old Court, and from Madame de Chantereine, who at last, after several times evading her questions, ventured cautiously to tell her of the deaths of her mother, aunt, and brother.  Madame Royale wept bitterly, but had much difficulty in expressing her feelings.  “She spoke so confusedly,” says Madame de la Ramiere in a letter to Madame de Verneuil, “that it was difficult to understand her.  It took her more than a month’s reading aloud, with careful study