During this monologue Louvois was so absorbed that he was within an ace of driving them all into the water, and would have done so, had they not seized the reins, and cried out that he was going to drown them.  At their cries and movement, Louvois awoke as from a deep sleep, drew up, and turned, saying that, indeed, he was musing, and not thinking of the vehicle.

I was at Versailles at that time, and happened to call upon Louvois about some business of my father’s.

The same day I met him after dinner as he was going to work with the King.  About four o’clock in the afternoon I learned that he had been taken rather unwell at Madame de Maintenon’s, that the King had forced him to go home, that he had done so on foot, that some trifling remedy was administered to him there, and that during the operation of it he died!

The surprise of all the Court may be imagined.  Although I was little more than fifteen years of age, I wished to see the countenance of the King after the occurrence of an event of this kind.  I went and waited for him, and followed him during all his promenade.  He appeared to me with his accustomed majesty, but had a nimble manner, as though he felt more free than usual.  I remarked that, instead of going to see his fountains, and diversifying his walk as usual, he did nothing but walk up and down by the balustrade of the orangery, whence he could see, in returning towards the chateau, the lodging in which Louvois had just died, and towards which he unceasingly looked.

The name of Louvois was never afterwards pronounced; not a word was said upon this death so surprising, and so sudden, until the arrival of an officer, sent by the King of England from Saint-Germain, who came to the King upon this terrace, and paid him a compliment of condolence upon the loss he had received.

“Monsieur,” replied the King, in a tone and with a manner more than easy, “give my compliments and my thanks to the King and Queen of England, and say to them in my name, that my affairs and theirs will go on none the worse for what has happened.”

The officer made a bow and retired, astonishment painted upon his face, and expressed in all his bearing.  I anxiously observed all this, and also remarked, that all the principal people around the King looked at each other, but said no word.  The fact was, as I afterwards learned, that Louvois, when he died, was so deeply in disgrace, that the very next day he was to have been arrested and sent to the Bastille!  The King told Chamillart so, and Chamillart related it to me.  This explains, I fancy, the joy of the King at the death of his minister; for it saved him from executing the plan he had resolved on.