Then she was carried in a sedan to Saint James's Palace, where apartments had been very hastily fitted up for her reception.

Soon messengers were running about in all directions to summon physicians and priests, Lords of the Council, and Ladies of the Bedchamber.

In a few hours many public functionaries and women of rank were assembled in the Queen's room.

There, on the morning of Sunday, the tenth of June, a day long kept sacred by the too faithful adherents of a bad cause, was born the most unfortunate of princes, destined to seventy-seven years of exile and wandering, of vain projects, of honours more galling than insults, and of hopes such as make the heart sick.
The calamities of the poor child had begun before his birth.

The nation over which, according to the ordinary course of succession, he would have reigned, was fully persuaded that his mother was not really pregnant.