In March his life-long friend, Count Reinhard, died, and Talleyrand read a paper on him at the Institut. The hall was crowded with scholars and politicians, and Talleyrand was greeted with a remarkable ovation. He read his paper in a strong and sonorous voice, and then made his way from the room between two compact hedges of admirers, who bowed their heads as he passed. “A greater than Voltaire,” cried Victor Cousin. There is little in the oration to explain the enthusiasm. To us, indeed, who read it in full consciousness of Talleyrand’s whole career, and not merely in connection with his last work at London, it has a curious look. The only passage of particular interest is where he describes the qualities that make the great diplomatist. Of these “good faith” is the first. He protests against the “prejudice” that conceives diplomacy as “a science of ruse and duplicity.” “If good faith is ever necessary it is in political transactions.” The passage rings with perfect sincerity; but the tradition that Talleyrand’s successes have left in the school of diplomacy is of a very different kind. The speech was plain and ineloquent. Lady Blennerhasset thinks Talleyrand had nearly every gift of this life bestowed on him except “respect.” It is impossible to see in the splendid enthusiasm evoked by his last public appearance at Paris anything else but a great demonstration of respect. The suppuration in his legs ceased some time before his death, and he spoke cheerfully of a journey to Italy, but in April the last symptoms made their appearance. He bore his pain with great restraint and dignity. Dupanloup’s scruples had been overruled by the archbishop, and he was now a frequent visitor at the Hotel St. Florentin. There seems to have been no conversation about religion in these visits, but there was a business-like arrangement of terms. Until the end of March he politely evaded all Dupanloup’s attempts to make an opening. At last he promised the duchess he would summon the priest if he fell seriously ill. He then submitted to him a draft of a recantation, but as it contained an implication that he had been free to marry, Dupanloup had to reject it, and proposed another form on May 12th. He watched Talleyrand’s face with great eagerness as he read it, but not a muscle moved. The Prince asked him to leave it.