“I pray my children, after their love to God, which is above all, to love one another, and to live in peace; to be grateful and obedient to their mother; and in memory of me, I pray them to look upon my sister as their second mother. “I pray my son, should he be so luckless as to become King, to forget the troubles I shall have passed through, and to forgive the people, who know not what they do, that which they will accomplish. Let him not forget that he was born for the happiness of his subjects; that he can only reign safely by upholding the laws; and that he can only do this while his power lasts. Once let him lose power, and he becomes more injurious than ever he was useful; and, above all, let him remember the load of debt I owe to the children of the men who have already fallen in defending my cause.” [These words are obviously the result of Louis’s study of the history of England, of the stigma that rests upon the memory of Charles II, through persistently ignoring the just claims of the children of the men who had died in the cause of his beheaded father, Charles I.] The King concludes his will by recommending Cléry to the Convention, and asking that the sword, purse, jewels, and other ornaments taken from him may be given to that person after the writer shall be dead. He signed the will “LOUIS,” as though he still reigned. This will is sublime in its simplicity; its Christianity, pity, regret, and massive setting aside of his life as passed away, are all very beautiful points; while the belief that his death would compensate all, and that the country would not visit his faults upon the heads of his family, shows still an amount of faith in his people which is truly touching. Upon the defence being read, the King found it opened with an appeal to the people, and a description of the wretched condition of the royal family. The two counsel and the King, who were the only people who heard this defence read, and which had been put into form by the reader, Desèze, were all moved at the beauty of the language. But the King was inflexible. “All that must be struck out,” he said. And he insisted—for was he not a dying man? The wishes of the dying are obeyed. After the reading of the defence, the King, being left alone with Malsherbes, he was tormented by the thought that he could not compensate his counsel for their labors. “Desèze and Trouchet,” he said, “owe me nothing. They gave me their time, exertions, and, perhaps, their lives, and I cannot pay them. Even if I leave a legacy, it will not be paid. Again, what could pay such work as theirs?” “Sire, you have the power of repaying them.” “How?” “Take them, for one mere moment, to your heart.” So, next day, when the two gentlemen came, he held open his arms, and pressed these brave men, one after the other, to his heart. This was all that he had to bestow—a royal accolade, the peaceful kiss of a dying man.