snow-flake that never melts, and this flake floated over his royal

head, like a white butterfly, into the land of eternity. Thus, too,

there was Louis XI. I have remembered his name, for one remembers what

is bad- a trait of him often comes into my thoughts, and I wish one

could say the story is not true. He had his lord high constable

executed, and he could execute him, right or wrong; but he had the

innocent children of the constable, one seven and the other eight

years old, placed under the scaffold so that the warm blood of their