“Nevertheless you see it was heard,” replied the King. “You may be forgiven for that, however, but we have not come to the end yet. Afterwards you were in such high spirits that you tried to run away and dash through the rose-bushes in the garden. M. Hue warned you, and said, ‘Monseigneur, a single one of those thorns might wound your face badly, or even put out your eye!’ And what answer did Monseigneur make?” Somewhat abashed, the Prince lowered his eyes. “I said: ‘It is the thorny path that leads to glory!’ And is not that true, papa?” The King’s face assumed a more serious expression. “Yes, yes, the principle is right,” he answered, “but you have misapplied it, my child. There is no glory in risking your eyesight merely to gratify a mischievous impulse. If it had been a question of killing a dangerous beast, of rescuing a human being from peril, in short, if you had risked your life to save another, that might have been called glory; but your act, Charles, was simply thoughtless and imprudent. Beside, child, you had better wait and not talk of glory until you are able to read the history of your ancestors and our French heroes like Guesclin, Bayard, Turenne, and many others who have defended our crown with their blood.” This mild but earnest exhortation made a deep impression on the heart of the young Prince. He seized his father’s hand, kissed it, and said in a low voice, “Very well, dear papa, after this I will find my glory in following your counsels and in obeying you.” “Then we are good friends again,” answered the King; “and now we will look over your exercises for a few moments, so that M. Hue and M. Daveaux may be pleased with you.” The King, as well as the Queen, observed with pride the talents of his son, and it afforded him much pleasure to be present during the lesson hours and examine the exercises and copy-books. He frequently instructed the Prince himself, and by his praise or censure encouraged in the boy a habit of diligence and attention to what was being impressed upon his mind. Together with his wife he guided the education of the young Prince, and even continued the practice in later and less happy days, when, deprived of his crown, he had to accustom himself to the gloom of a prison cell. Soon the Abbé Daveaux appeared, and the usual instruction in religion, reading, history, and geography began. The Prince was particularly attentive on this day, for his father’s gentle admonition had sunk deep into his heart and spurred his zeal to the utmost. “You have been very bright and industrious to-day, my Prince,” said M. Daveaux, when study-time was over, “and I am glad, therefore, that I have a pleasant piece of news for you.” “What news?” asked the Prince, quickly. “This,—that a company of small soldiers has been formed in Paris under the name of ‘Regiment of the Dauphin,’ which wishes to have you for its Colonel. I am sure you will accept this post of honor with pleasure.”