The young king was not less affected than his elder brother; he threw himself about in his fauteuil, and could not find a single word of reply.

Charles II., to whom ten years in age gave a superior strength to master his emotions, recovered his speech the first.

“Sire,” said he, “your reply? I wait for it as a criminal waits for his sentence. Must I die?”

“My brother,” replied the French prince, “you ask of me for a million — me, who was never possessed of a quarter of that sum! I possess nothing. I am no more king of France than you are king of England. I am a name, a cipher dressed in fleur-de-lised velvet, — that is all. I am upon a visible throne; that is my only advantage over your majesty. I have nothing —