On Sunday morning, November 9, the King, on entering the Council of State, called the Duc de Beauvilliers to him, and requested him to go in the afternoon and tell Chamillart that he was obliged, for motives of public interest, to ask him to resign his office; but that, in order to give him a mark of his esteem and satisfaction with his services, he continued his pension of Minister—­that is to say, twenty thousand francs—­and added as much more, with one to his son of twenty thousand francs likewise.  He added that he should have liked to see Chamillart, but that at first it would grieve him too much:  he was not to come till sent for; he might live in Paris, and go where he liked.  The Duc de Beauvilliers did all he could to escape from carrying so harsh a message, but could only obtain permission to let the Duc de Chevreuse accompany him.

They went to Chamillart, and found him alone, working in his cabinet.  The air of consternation with which they entered, told the unfortunate Minister that something disagreeable had happened; and without giving them time to speak, he said, with a serene and tranquil countenance, “What is the matter, gentlemen?  If what you have to say concerns only me, you may speak:  I have long been prepared for everything.”  This gentle firmness touched them still more.  They could scarcely explain what they came about.  Chamillart listened without any change of countenance, and said, with the same air and tone as at first:  “The King is the master.  I have endeavoured to serve him to the best of my ability.  I hope some one else will please him better, and be more lucky.”  He then asked if he had been forbidden to write to the King, and being told not, he wrote a letter of respect and thanks, and sent it by the two Dukes, with a memoir which he had just finished.  He also wrote to Madame de Maintenon.  He sent a verbal message to his wife; and, without complaint, murmur, or sighs, got into his carriage, and drove to L’Etang.  Both then and afterwards he showed the greatest magnanimity.  Every one went, from a sort of fashion, to visit him.  When I went, the house looked as if a death had taken place; and it was frightful to see, in the midst of cries and tears, the dead man walking, speaking with a quiet, gentle air, and serene brow,—­unconstrained, unaffected, attentive to every one, not at all or scarcely different from what he was accustomed to be.

Chamillart, as I have said, had received permission to live at Paris, if he liked; but soon afterwards he innocently gave umbrage to Madame de Maintenon, who was annoyed that his disgrace was not followed by general abandonment.  She caused him to be threatened secretly, and he prudently left Paris, and went far away, under pretence of seeking for an estate to buy.