in the earth with his shovel, with my cane. One day he exclaimed:
Down with Louis XVIII.! and off he went. It was no fault of mine.
He was all rosy and blond.
His mother is dead.
Have you ever noticed that all little children are blond? Why is it so?
He is the son of one of those brigands of the Loire, but children are innocent of their fathers'' crimes.
I remember when he was no higher than that.
He could not manage to pronounce his Ds. He had a way of talking that was so sweet and indistinct that you would have thought it was a bird chirping.
I remember that once, in front of the Hercules Farnese, people formed a circle to admire him and marvel at him, he was so handsome, was that child! He had a head such as you see in pictures.
I talked in a deep voice, and I frightened him with my cane, but he knew very well that it was only to make him laugh.
In the morning, when he entered my room, I grumbled, but he was like the sunlight to me, all the same. One cannot defend oneself against those brats.
They take hold of you, they hold you fast, they never let you go again.
The truth is, that there never was a cupid like that child.
Now, what can you say for your Lafayettes, your Benjamin Constants, and your Tirecuir de Corcelles who have killed him?
This cannot be allowed to pass in this fashion."