Madame arrived, in full dress she knew not why, and howling she knew not why, inundated everybody with her tears in embracing them, making the chateau echo with renewed cries, and furnished the odd spectacle of a Princess putting on her robes of ceremony in the dead of night to come and cry among a crowd of women with but little on except their night-dresses,—­almost as masqueraders.

In the gallery several ladies, Madame la Duchesse d’Orleans, Madame de Castries, and Madame de Saint-Simon among the rest, finding no one close by, drew near each other by the side of a tent-bedstead, and began to open their hearts to each other, which they did with the more freedom, inasmuch as they had but one sentiment in common upon what had occurred.  In this gallery, and in the salon, there were always during the night several beds, in which, for security’s sake, certain Swiss guards and servants slept.  These beds had been put in their usual place this evening before the bad news came from Meudon.  In the midst of the conversation of the ladies, Madame de Castries touched the bed, felt something move, and was much terrified.  A moment after they saw a sturdy arm, nearly naked, raise on a sudden the curtains, and thus show them a great brawny Swiss under the sheets, half awake, and wholly amazed.  The fellow was a long time in making out his position, fixing his eyes upon every face one after the other; but at last, not judging it advisable to get up in the midst of such a grand company, he reburied himself in his bed, and closed the curtains.  Apparently the good man had gone to bed before anything had transpired, and had slept so soundly ever since that he had not been aroused until then.  The saddest sights have often the most ridiculous contrasts.  This caused some of the ladies to laugh, and Madame d’Orleans to fear lest the conversation should have been overheard.  But after reflection, the sleep and the stupidity of the sleeper reassured her.

I had some doubts yet as to the event that had taken place; for I did not like to abandon myself to belief, until the word was pronounced by some one in whom I could have faith.  By chance I met D’O, and I asked him.  He answered me clearly that Monseigneur was no more.  Thus answered, I tried not to be glad.  I know not if I succeeded well, but at least it is certain, that neither joy nor sorrow blunted my curiosity, and that while taking due care to preserve all decorum, I did not consider myself in any way forced to play the doleful.  I no longer feared any fresh attack from the citadel of Meudon, nor any cruel charges from its implacable garrison.  I felt, therefore, under no constraint, and followed every face with my glances, and tried to scrutinise them unobserved.