The boy threw both his arms around the neck of the queen. "Ah!" he cried, "how can any one ever leave his dear mamma and never come back? I will never leave you, mamma!"
"I pray God you speak the truth," sighed the queen, pressing him tenderly to herself. "I pray God I may die before you both!"
"Not before me--oh, not before me!" ejaculated the king, shuddering.
"Without you, my dear one, my life were a desert; without you, the King of France were the poorest man in the whole land!"
He smiled sadly at her. "And with me he will perhaps be the most unfortunate one," she whispered softly, as if to herself.
"Never unfortunate, if you are with me, and if you love me," cried the king, warmly. "Weep no more; we must overcome our grief, and comfort ourselves with what remains. I say to you once more: the dauphin is dead, long live the dauphin!"
"Papa king," said the boy, quickly, "you say the dauphin is dead, and has left us. Has he taken every thing away with him that belongs to him?"
"No, my son, he has left every thing. You are now the dauphin, and some time will be King of France, for you are the heir of your brother."
"What does that mean, his heir?" asked the child.
"It means," answered the king, "that to you belong now the titles and honors of your brother."
"Nothing but that?" asked the prince, timidly. "I do not want his titles and honors."
"You are the heir to the throne; you have now the title of Dauphin of France."
The little one timidly grasped the hand of his mother, and lifted his great blue eyes supplicatingly to her.
"Mamma queen," he whispered, "do you not think the title of Duke de Normandy sounds just as well, or will you love me more, if I am called Dauphin of France?"
"No, my son," answered the queen, "I shall not love you better, and I should be very happy if you were now the Duke de Normandy."
"Then, mamma," cried the boy, eagerly, "I am not at all glad to receive this new title. But I should like to know whether I have received any thing else from my dear sick brother."
"Any thing else?" asked the king in amazement; "what would you desire, my child?"
The little prince cast down his eyes. "I should not like to tell, papa. But if it is true that the dauphin has left us and is not coming back again, and yet has not taken away every thing which belongs to him, there is something which I should very much like to have, and which would please me more than that I am now the dauphin."
The king turned his face inquiringly to the queen. "Do you understand, Marie, what he wants to say?" he whispered.
"I think I can guess," answered Marie Antoinette softly, and she walked quickly across the room, opened the door of the adjoining apartment, and whispered a few words to the page who was there. Then she returned to the king, but while doing so she stepped upon the bouquet which had fallen out of the boy's hands when his father lifted him up.
"Oh, my pretty violets, my pretty roses," cried the prince, sadly, and his face put on a sorrowful expression. But he quickly brightened, and, looking up at the queen, he said, smiling, "Mamma queen, I wish you always walked on flowers which I have planted and plucked for you!"
At this moment the door softly opened, and a little black dog stepped in, and ran forward, whining, directly up to the prince.
"Moufflet," cried the child, falling upon his knee, "Moufflet!"
The little dog, with its long, curly locks of hair, put its fore-paws upon the shoulders of the boy and eagerly and tenderly licked his laughing, rosy face.
"Now, my Louis," asked the queen, "have I guessed right?--wasn't it the doggy that you wanted so much?"
"Mamma queen has guessed it," cried the boy joyfully, putting his arms around the neck of the dog. "Does Moufflet belong to my inheritance too? Do I receive him, since my brother has left him behind?"
"Yes, my son, the little dog belongs to your inheritance," answered the king, with a sad smile.
The child shouted with pleasure, and pressed the dog close to his breast. "Moufflet is mine!" he cried, glowing with joy, "Moufflet is my inheritance!"
The queen slowly raised to heaven her eyes, red with weeping. "Oh, the innocence of childhood, the happiness of childhood!" said she, softly, "why do they not go with us through life? why must we tread them under feet like the violets arid roses of my son? A kingdom falls to him as his portion, and yet he takes pleasure in the little dog which only licks his hands! Love is the fairest inheritance, for love remains with us till death!"
