The only passion, it is said, ever shown by Louis XVI. was for hunting. On one occasion, writes Soulavie,[69] “he was so much occupied by it that when I went up into his private closets at Versailles, I saw upon the staircase six frames, in which were seen statements of all his hunts when dauphin and when king. In them was detailed the number, kind, and quality of the game he had killed at each hunting-party during every month, every season, and every year of his reign.” The story goes that when Gustavus reached Paris on June 7, 1784, he went on the same evening to Versailles. But Louis had been hunting, and was at supper at Rambouillet when a courier from Vergennes brought him the news. The King at once retired to Versailles, but not being expected, could find neither _valets-de-chambre_ nor keys. Accordingly, he was compelled to dress as best he could, and finally made his appearance before his royal guest in two odd shoes--one with a red, the other with a black heel--with odd buckles--one gold, one silver--and the rest of his dress in similar confusion. The indifference paid by Marie Antoinette to conventional rules observed by those in high station exposed her to censure; but even her opponents have been forced to admit that one of her charms was the genuine kindness she often displayed to persons in a humble sphere of life. Thus, on one occasion, a strange accident happened. The stag, being closely pursued by the hounds during the royal hunt, leaped into an enclosure in which the owner was at work. The animal not seeing any means of escape became furious, ran at the peasant, and struck him two blows with its antlers, inflicting a dangerous wound. His wife, in a state of despair, rushed towards a group of sportsmen she saw at a distance--it was the King and his suite. She cried out for help, telling what had happened to her husband, and then fell down in a swoon. The King gave orders that she should be attended to, and after speaking kindly and compassionately rode away; but the Dauphiness, who had come up, stepped out of her carriage, ran to the woman, made her smell essenced water, which gave her relief, and presented her with all the money she had on her person. On July 25, 1830, Charles X. of France signed the decrees which abolished the liberty of the press, and on the following day--although it was summertime--he went with the Dauphin to hunt the stag in the forest of Rambouillet. It proved to be an historic hunt, for “it seemed as if he had come to gaze at the scene whence his royalty was to be carried out to be buried.” By half-past nine the following night eight royal carriages and some hired coaches deposited at the gates of Rambouillet the fugitive King and a part of his terrified family; and thus came to pass the deposition of the last of the Bourbon kings who had reigned in France.