better than many other persons; for the good gentleman had a very disagreeable person, and his face was not the most beautiful.  I believe, however, she was touched with his great affection for her; and indeed it would be impossible for a man to entertain a more fervent passion than he did for his wife.  Her wit was agreeable, and she could be very pleasant when she chose:  her gaiety dissipated the melancholy which sometimes seized upon the devout Dauphin.  Like almost all humpbacked men, he had a great passion for women; but at the same time was so pious that he feared he committed a grievous sin in looking at any other than his own wife; and he was truly in love with her.  I saw him once, when a lady had told him that he had good eyes, squint immediately that he might appear ugly.  This was really an unnecessary trouble; for the good man was already sufficiently plain, having a very ill-looking mouth, a sickly appearance, small stature, and a hump at his back.

He had many good qualities:  he was charitable, and had assisted several officers unknown to any one.  He certainly died of grief for the loss of his wife, as he had predicted.  A learned astrologer of Turin, having cast the nativity of the Dauphine, told her that she would die in her twenty-seventh year.

She often spoke of it, and said one day to her husband, “The time is approaching when I shall die; you cannot remain without a wife as well on account of your rank as your piety; tell me, then, I beg of you, whom you will marry?”

“I hope,” he replied, “that God will not inflict so severe a punishment on me as to deprive me of you; but if this calamity should befall me, I shall not marry again, for I shall follow you to the grave in a week.”

This happened exactly as he said it would; for, on the seventh day after his wife’s death, he died also.  This is not a fiction, but perfectly true.

While the Dauphine was in good health and spirits she often said, “I must enjoy myself now.  I shall not be able to do so long, for I shall die this year.”

I thought it was only a joke, but it turned out to be too true.  When she fell sick she said she should never recover.

SECTION XVI.—­PETITE MADAME.

A cautery which had been improperly made in the nape of the neck had drawn her mouth all on one side, so that it was almost entirely in her left cheek.  For this reason talking was very painful to her, and she said very little.  It was necessary to be accustomed to her way of speaking to understand her.  Just when she was about to die her mouth resumed its proper place, and she did not seem at all ugly.  I was present at her death.  She did not say a word to her father, although a convulsion had restored her mouth.  The King, who had a good heart and was very fond of his children, wept excessively and made me weep also.  The Queen was not present, for, being pregnant, they would not let her come.