“Sir!” exclaimed I, rising:  He understood me at once; and answered in a broken voice, really crying:  “You are right to be surprised—­I am surprised myself; but such a spectacle touches.  He was a man with whom I passed much of my life, and who treated me well when he was uninfluenced.  I feel very well that my grief won’t last long; in a few days I shall discover motives of joy; at present, blood, relationship, humanity,—­all work; and my entrails are moved.”  I praised his sentiments, but repeated my surprise.  He rose, thrust his head into a corner, and with his nose there, wept bitterly and sobbed, which if I had not seen I could not have believed.

After a little silence, however, I exhorted him to calm himself.  I represented to him that, everybody knowing on what terms he had been with Monseigneur, he would be laughed at, as playing a part, if his eyes showed that he had been weeping.  He did what he could to remove the marks of his tears, and we then went back into the other room.

The interview of the Duchesse de Bourgogne with the King had not been long.  She met him in the avenue between the two stables, got down, and went to the door of the carriage.  Madame de Maintenon cried out, “Where are you going?  We bear the plague about with us.”  I do not know what the King said or did.  The Princess returned to her carriage, and came back to Versailles, bringing in reality the first news of the actual death of Monseigneur.

Acting upon the advice of M. de Beauvilliers, all the company had gone into the salon.  The two Princes, Monseigneur de Bourgogne and M. de Berry, were there, seated on one sofa, their Princesses at their sides; all the rest of the company were scattered about in confusion, seated or standing, some of the ladies being on the floor, near the sofa.  There could be no doubt of what had happened.  It was plainly written on every face in the chamber and throughout the apartment.  Monseigneur was no more:  it was known:  it was spoken of:  constraint with respect to him no longer existed.  Amidst the surprise, the confusion, and the movements that prevailed, the sentiments of all were painted to the life in looks and gestures.

In the outside rooms were heard the constrained groans and sighs of the valets—­grieving for the master they had lost as well as for the master that had succeeded.  Farther on began the crowd of courtiers of all kinds.  The greater number—­that is to say the fools—­pumped up sighs as well as they could, and with wandering but dry eyes, sung the praises of Monseigneur—­insisting especially on his goodness.  They pitied the King for the loss of so good a son.  The keener began already to be uneasy about the health of the King; and admired themselves for preserving so much judgment amidst so much trouble, which could be perceived by the frequency of their repetitions.  Others, really afflicted—­the discomfited cabal—­wept bitterly, and kept themselves under with an effort