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"Finissons sans trouble, et mourons sans regrets, En laissant l'univers, comble de nos bienfaits. Ainsi l'astre du jour au bout de sa carriere, Repand sur l'horizon une douce lumiere, Et les derniers rayons qu'il darde dans lea airs, Sont ses derniers soupirs qu'il donne a l'univers." The marquis listened with rapture to this improvised poem of the king.
The pistol, indeed, which was found on the hill of Darde, on the night of the 1st of November, could only have belonged to Peytel, and must have been thrown by him, near the body of his domestic, with the paper which had before enveloped it. Who had seen this pistol in the hands of Louis?
"After they had gone about 500 paces beyond the bridge of Andert, that crosses the river Furans, and ascended to the least steep part of the hill of Darde, Peytel cried out to his servant, who was seated in the car, to come down from it, and finish the ascent on foot.
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