A general movement of curiosity on the Champ-de-Mars is noticed.  Charles X. arrives.  He has a serene brow, a smile upon his lips.  It hardly seems possible that before the end of the year he will be a septuagenarian; he would be taken for a man of fifty, powdered.  An immense cry of “Long live the King,” raised by the National Guards, is repeated by the crowd.  The monarch, radiant, salutes with glance and hand.

He passes along the front of the battalions.  Here and there are heard cries of “Hurrah for the Charter!  Hurrah for liberty of the press!” But they are drowned by those of “Long live the King!” Everything seems to go as he wishes, and Charles X. feels that the review, which his timid ministers regarded as dangerous, is an inspiration.  So far it is for him only a triumph.  But suddenly, as he appears in front of the Seventh Legion, he remarks the persistence with which a group of the Guards is crying, “Hurrah for the Charter!” The monarch perceives a sentiment of unfriendliness.  A National Guardsman ventures to speak:—­

“Does Your Majesty think that cheers for the Charter are an outrage?”—­“Gentlemen,” responds the King in a severe tone, “I came here to receive homage, not a lesson.”  The royal pride of this response had a good effect.  The cries of “Long live the King!” are renewed with energy.  The face of Charles X. again becomes calm and serene.  Seated in his saddle before the Military School, the sovereign sees file by the twelve legions, with unanimous cheers.  The review closed, the King says to Marshal Oudinot, commandant-in-chief of the National Guard:”  It might have passed off better; there were some mar-plots, but the mass is good, and on the whole, I am satisfied.”

The Marshal asks, if, in the order of the day he may mention the satisfaction of the King.  “Yes,” replied Charles X., “but I wish to know the terms in which this sentiment is expressed.”

The sovereign returns on horseback to the Tuileries, while each legion goes to its own quarter.  When he arrives at the Pavilion de l’Horloge, he is received by his two grandchildren.  Mademoiselle throws herself upon his neck:  “Bon-papa, you are content, aren’t you?”—­“Yes, almost,” he answers.  The Count de Bourbon-Busset, who is in the sovereign’s suite, says to the Duchess of Gontaut, his mother-in-law, that all has passed off well.  The Duchess of Angouleme, who has just alighted from her carriage, as well as the Duchess of Berry, hears this phrase; she cries:  “You are not hard to please.”  The two princesses are as agitated as the King is calm.  At the moment of their return they have been greeted with violent cries of “Down with the ministers!  Down with the Jesuits!” It is even said that there was a cry of “Down with the Jesuitesses!” The clang of arms rendered these violent clamors more sinister.  The daughter of Louis XVI. and the widow of the Duke of Berry believed themselves doubly insulted as women and as princesses.  The Duchess of Angouleme, with intrepid countenance, but deeply irritated, trembled with indignation.  It seemed to her that the Revolution was being revived.  The scenes of horror that her uncle Charles X. had not beheld, but of which she had been the witness and the victim, arose before her again,—­the 5th and the 6th of October, 1789, the 20th of June, and the 10th of August, 1792.