This sympathy was, however, unfelt by her son; who no sooner became aware that she was about to enter her carriage than he hurried to the balcony of the Queen’s apartment, whence he attentively watched the departure of the cortege, manifesting the most lively interest in the preliminary arrangements; and as the last equipage disappeared, he returned to the room saying gaily:  “Now then, gentlemen, we will start for Vincennes.”

Some minutes afterwards, the palace resounded with the voices of ushers, pages, and men-at-arms; a dozen carriages rolled into the Court; the King paid a farewell visit to his dogs, his birds, and his wife; and then, desiring that the Queen and her ladies should follow him on the morrow, he left orders that the Louvre should be minutely searched throughout, in order to ascertain beyond all possibility of doubt that no gunpowder had been concealed within the edifice for the purpose of effecting his destruction; after which he sprang into his coach, with an undisguised cheerfulness which left no doubt that his affected respect and attachment for his mother were by no means incompatible with a hearty sense of relief at his emancipation from her control.[307]

The Marechale d’Ancre had been committed to the Bastille on the 29th of April, lightly dressed, despoiled of all her ornaments, and without the most trifling pecuniary resource; so thoroughly destitute, indeed, of the common necessaries of life that she was indebted to Madame Persan, the wife of the lieutenant of the fortress, for a couple of changes of body-linen.  Even the Prince de Conde, who was professedly her enemy, was deeply moved when he ascertained her pitiable condition.  “It was not to Leonora that political crimes should be attributed,” he said, with an indignation which did honour to his heart; “but to the insatiable ambition of her husband.”

Her only attendants were an Italian maid and her apothecary, whose constant care was required from the precarious state both of her bodily and mental health; but she nevertheless maintained a self-command and composure which astonished all by whom she was approached.  She uttered no complaint; exhibited no resentment; and in reply to the condolences of her gaolers, simply replied:  “I must have patience; my enemies are powerful, the Queen-mother is absent, and no doubt I shall be compelled to leave France.  I will retire with my son to Florence; we have still the means of subsistence, and I must endeavour to forget the past.”

Some days subsequently her women succeeded in conveying to her a few changes of apparel and two hundred crowns in money; but when, on the 11th of May, she was transferred to the prison of the Conciergerie, these effects were in their turn stolen from her, and she once more found herself totally penniless.  In addition to this misfortune she was apprised that she could no longer be permitted to retain her attendants, as the regulations of a felon prison did not admit of such an indulgence; and on hearing this, she said with a cry of agony:  “I am lost!”