I had often felt a desire to know the real opinion of M. de Talleyrand concerning the character of Louis Dixhuit, and I considered myself particularly fortunate that the conversation should have turned upon the subject. It was evident that he held in small esteem the principles of the Bourbon, whose crooked policy and cowardly revenge once drew from him an approval of the memorable words of Fox—“Of all revolutions, the worst is a restoration!” The indignation must have been great which could have caused this bitter criticism upon his own work, for he it was who, by the avowal of the king himself, had planned and executed his great principle of legitimacy, and restored the Bourbons to the throne. “Louis Dixhuit was the veriest liar that ever trode the earth,” said the prince. “His love of falsehood was so great, that those admitted to his intimacy had grown to dread the expression from his lips of any kindness, feeling sure that disgrace was nigh. He was the greatest hater I ever met with; cold and calculating in his vengeance, and meanly taunting in its gratification. I cannot describe to you my disappointment when I first beheld him in 1814, after the events which had changed him from a miserable exile into the sovereign of the greatest European country. He received me in the palace at Compiègne. I could judge the character of the man by the manner of his greeting. He was in the great gallery of the château, surrounded by his friends and many of the foreign diplomates, who were all eager and _empressé_ in their congratulations—all full of hope and bright anticipations of the future. I may, without being suspected of _fatuité_, declare that a murmur of welcome ran through the assembly when my name was announced, and the king advanced a few steps to meet me with a warm and friendly welcome. He pressed my hand with great kindness, and drawing forward a chair which stood beside him, exclaimed, ‘Prince de Benevent, be seated—and believe me, I do not forget that had it not been for your assistance in the late events, they might have turned in a different chance, and _you_ might have said to _me_, “Count de Lille, be seated.”’ “The phrase appeared to me so artificial, so stiff and embarrassed, that I involuntarily looked his majesty full in the face for an explanation. By that single glance I could tell that I was not destined to remain a minister of Louis Dixhuit, and my anticipations proved true, although he knew well that had it not been for my exertions, he would not have regained his throne until much later—perhaps, indeed, never!