"It was at this time that his father died, and Charles Maurice was now the Comte de Talleyrand, and head of that branch of the family to which he belonged. Meanwhile the younger son, Archambaut, had likewise returned from his nursing; but he had the better chance--his limbs were sound and well developed, as God had made them. No dire accident, the consequence of foul neglect, had marred his shape, or tarnished his comeliness. So, one fine day, and as a natural consequence, mark you, of this fortunate circumstance, when Charles Maurice, the eldest son, had finished his course of study at Louis le Grand, having passed through his classes with great _eclat_, there came a tall, sallow, black-robed priest, and took him away from the midst of his friends to the grim old _seminaire_ of St. Sulpice, and it was there that he received the astounding intimation, from the lips of the superior himself, that, by the decision of a _conseil de famille_, from which there was no appeal, his birthright had been taken from him, and transferred to his younger brother. "'Why so?' faltered the boy, unable to conceal his emotion. "'He is not cripple,' was the stern and cruel answer. "It must have been that hour--nay, that very instant--the echo of those heartless words, which made the Prince de Talleyrand what he is even to this very day. Who shall tell the bitter throes of that bold, strong-hearted youth, as he heard the unjust sentence? Was it defiance and despair, the gift of hell, or resignation, the blessed boon of heaven, which caused him to suffer the coarse black robe to be thrown at once above his college uniform, without a cry, without a murmur? None will ever be able to divine what his feelings were, for this one incident is always passed over by the prince. He never refers to it, even when in familiar conversation with his most loved intimates. It is certain, therefore, that the single hour of which I speak bore with it a whole life of bitterness and agony. (P. 106, 107.)"