Upon hearing this news, the King, who had been accustomed to fly to visit Monsieur for a mere nothing, went to Madame de Maintenon’s, and had her waked up.  He passed a quarter of an hour with her, and then, towards midnight, returning to his room, ordered his coach to be got ready, and sent the Marquis de Gesvres to Saint Cloud, to see if Monsieur was worse, in which case he was to return and wake him; and they went quickly to bed.  Besides the particular relations in which they were at that time, I think that the King suspected some artifice; that he went in consequence to consult Madame de Maintenon, and preferred sinning against all laws of propriety to running the chance of being duped.  Madame de Maintenon did not like Monsieur.  She feared him.  He paid her very little court, and despite all his timidity and his more than deference, observations escaped him at times, when he was with the King, which marked his disdain of her, and the shame that he felt of public opinion.  She was not eager, therefore, to advise the King to go and visit him, still less to commence a journey by night, the loss of rest, and the witnessing a spectacle so sad, and so likely to touch him, and make him make reflections on himself; for she hoped that if things went quietly he might be spared the trouble altogether.

A moment after the King had got into bed, a page came to say that Monsieur was better, and that he had just asked for some Schaffhausen water, which is excellent for apoplexy.  An hour and a half later, another messenger came, awakened the King, and told him that the emetic had no effect, and that Monsieur was very ill.  At this the King rose and set out at once.  On the way he met the Marquis de Gesvres, who was coming to fetch him, and brought similar news.  It may be imagined what a hubbub and disorder there was this night at Marly, and what horror at Saint Cloud, that palace of delight!  Everybody who was at Marly hastened as he was best able to Saint Cloud.  Whoever was first ready started together.  Men and women jostled each other, and then threw themselves into the coaches without order and without regard to etiquette.  Monseigneur was with Madame la Duchesse.  He was so struck by what had occurred, and its resemblance to what he himself had experienced, that he could scarcely stand, and was dragged, almost carried, to the carriage, all trembling.

The King arrived at Saint Cloud before three o’clock in the morning.  Monsieur had not had a moment’s consciousness since his attack.  A ray of intelligence came to him for an instant, while his confessor, Pere du Trevoux, went to say mass, but it returned no more.  The most horrible sights have often ridiculous contrasts.  When the said confessor came back, he cried, “Monsieur, do you not know your confessor?  Do you not know the good little Pere du Trevoux, who is speaking to you?” and thus caused the less afflicted to laugh indecently.