All in the room were weeping and lamenting; but he held without interruption the thread of his discourse, which was pretty long.  But when he had done, he directed us all to leave the room, except the women attendants, whom he styled his garrison.  But first, calling to him my brother, M. de Beauregard, he said to him:  “M. de Beauregard, you have my best thanks for all the care you have taken of me.  I have now a thing which I am very anxious indeed to mention to you, and with your permission I will do so.”  As my brother gave him encouragement to proceed, he added:  “I assure you that I never knew any man who engaged in the reformation of our Church with greater sincerity, earnestness, and single-heartedness than yourself.  I consider that you were led to it by observing the vicious character of our prelates, which no doubt much requires setting in order, and by imperfections which time has brought into our Church.  It is not my desire at present discourage you from this course, for I would have no one act in opposition to his conscience; but I wish, having regard to the good repute acquired by your family from its enduring concord—­a family than which none can be dearer to me; a family, thank God! no member of which has ever been guilty of dishonour —­in regard, further, to the will of your good father to whom you owe so much, and of your, uncle, I wish you to avoid extreme means; avoid harshness and violence:  be reconciled with your relatives; do not act apart, but unite.  You perceive what disasters our quarrels have brought upon this kingdom, and I anticipate still worse mischiefs; and in your goodness and wisdom, beware of involving your family in such broils; let it continue to enjoy its former reputation and happiness.  M. de Beauregard, take what I say in good part, and as a proof of the friendship I feel for you.  I postponed till now any communication with you on the subject, and perhaps the condition in which you see me address you, may cause my advice and opinion to carry greater authority.”  My brother expressed his thanks to him cordially.

On the Monday morning he had become so ill that he quite despaired of himself; and he said to me very pitifully:  “Brother, do not you feel pain for all the pain I am suffering?  Do you not perceive now that the help you give me has no other effect than that of lengthening my suffering?”

Shortly afterwards he fainted, and we all thought him gone; but by the application of vinegar and wine he rallied.  But he soon sank, and when he heard us in lamentation, he murmured, “O God! who is it that teases me so?  Why did you break the agreeable repose I was enjoying?  I beg of you to leave me.”  And then, when he caught the sound of my voice, he continued:  “And art thou, my brother, likewise unwilling to see me at peace?  O, how thou robbest me of my repose!” After a while, he seemed to gain more strength, and called for wine, which he relished, and declared it to be the finest drink possible.  I, in order to change the current of his thoughts, put in, “Surely not; water is the best.”  “Ah, yes,” he returned, “doubtless so;—­(Greek phrase)—.”  He had now become, icy-cold at his extremities, even to his face; a deathly perspiration was upon him, and his pulse was scarcely perceptible.