"I think I know them," replied Louis Charles, with a sad smile. "My enemies are the self-same men who brought my father and my mother to the scaffold, destroyed the throne, and in its place gave Prance a red cap. My enemies are the republicans, who now rule in this land, and whose great object must, of course, be to put me out of the way, for my life is their death! France will one day be tired of the red cap, and will restore the throne to him to whom it belongs, so soon as it is certain that he who is entitled to the crown, is living to wear it."
"And who do you suppose is justified in wearing the crown of France?"
"You ask as if you did not know that I am the only son and heir of the murdered King of France."
"The only son, but not the only heir. Your inheritance will be contested; and even if France should transform herself from a republic to a monarchy, every attempt possible will be made to drive you, the son of Louis XVI., from the throne, and put the crown on the head of another."
"Sir, if monarchy is uppermost again, the crown belongs to me. Who, in that case, would venture to contend with me for it?"
"Your enemies! Not those whom you have just named, but the other half of your enemies, of whose existence you have no suspicion, it seems-your enemies, the royalists."
"How so?" cried Louis Charles, in amazement. "Do you call the royalists my enemies?"
"Yes, and they are so, your powerful, defiant, and untiring enemies.
Do you not see that even here in this room I do not dare to give you the title that is your due, for fear that the walls may have ears and increase the danger which threatens you? I will now name to you the greatest of your enemies--the Count de Provence."
"How! my uncle, the brother of my father, he my enemy?"
"He is your enemy, as he was the enemy of your mother. Believe me, young man, it is not the people who have made the revolution in France; it is the princes who have done it. The Count de Provence, the Count d'Artois, and the Duke d'Orleans--they are the chief revolutionists; they it is who have put fire to the throne; they it is who have sown the libels and lampoons broadcast over France, and made the name of Marie Antoinette odious. They did it out of hate, out of revenge, and out of ambition. Queen Marie Antoinette had won her husband over to the policy of Austria, and in this way had set herself in opposition to the Count de Provence, and the whole royal family. The count never forgave her for this, and he will never forgive you for being the son of your mother. The Count de Provence, as he now styles himself, is your sworn enemy, and will do all he can to bring you to ruin; he is ambitious, and his goal is, to be the King of France!"
"King of France? The Count de Provence, the brother of the king, wants to be his successor, when I, the son of the king, am alive and demand my inheritance ?"
"Your demand will not be acknowledged: they will declare that you are an impostor and a deceiver. Ah, the Count de Provence is a selfish and a hard character. He means to make his own way, and if you put hinderances in it, he will put you out of his path, without compassion and without remorse; trust me for knowing this, who for three years have been in the immediate neighborhood of the prince. I was afraid to impart the plan of your escape to the princes, and, after you were released, I was silent, for a secret is only safe when a very few are conscious of it. But after the news came last year from Paris, that the boy who had been placed as your substitute in the Temple had died, after a long sickness, I ventured to inform the Count de Lille about the real facts. I told him that I believed that information I had received might be relied upon, that King Louis XVII. had been released from the Temple by true and devoted servants, and was then in a place of safety. Would you like to know what reply the count made?"
"I pray you, tell me," responded Louis Charles, with a sigh.
"He answered me, 'I advise you, cousin, not to put any confidence in such idle stories, and not to be duped by any sly rogues. My unfortunate little nephew died in the Temple--that is a fact acknowledged by the republic, universally believed, and denied by no one. After long sufferings the son has fallen as a new victim to the bloodthirsty republicans, and we are still wearing mourning for our deceased nephew, King Louis XVII. And should any wise-head happen on the thought of making the dead boy come to life again, I will be the first to disown him and hold him as an impostor.' Those were the words of the count, and you will now confess that I am right in calling him your enemy, and in not daring to communicate to him the secret of your release?"
"I grant you," replied the prince, sadly, "I would rather bury the secret forever."
"Now, hear me further. A few weeks ago the prince summoned me, and I saw on his sinister face and in his flashing eyes that he must have received some unwelcome tidings. He did not make me wait long for the confirmation of my conjectures. With a sharp, cutting voice he asked me what kind of a nephew of mine that was whom I was educating at my palace in Vendee. General de Charette had given him information through one of his emissaries sending him word that the report was current in Vendee that this alleged nephew of mine was the rescued King Louis XVII., whom I had helped release from the Temple. He, General Charette, had believed it at first. He had therefore (so the prince went on to say) visited my palace recently, for the purpose of discovering the supposed young king. There he convinced himself that the boy bore no resemblance to the little Louis Charles--whom he had once seen at the Tuileries--and that he certainly was not the son of Louis XVI."
"He told me only too truly that he would have his revenge," whispered the young prince.