Oh, I would rather mount the scaffold of my brother, Louis XVI.
Meanwhile Monte Cristo had rapidly taken off his great-coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and one might distinguish by the glimmering through the open panel that he wore a pliant tunic of steel mail, of which the last in France, where daggers are no longer dreaded, was worn by King Louis XVI.
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In the red-carpeted front room, which felt like a room where you’d go to kiss your grandfather on the cheek after being freshly released from prison, large family-style gatherings of drinkers in Louis XVI—style chairs ate and smoked and shouted and pounded each other on the back around tables swagged with metallic gold fabric.
Donna Tartt -- The Goldfinch
When Louis XVI. was going to light out of the Tooleries a servant-girl done it.