His exile, and the conduct that drew it upon him, were fresh motives for hatred against him, unveiling, as they did, a number of secret intrigues he had been concerned in, and which he had great interest in hiding.  All these things together did not render agreeable to Tellier his forced retirement at La Fleche.  He found there sharp superiors and equals, instead of the general terror his presence had formerly caused among the Jesuits.  All now showed nothing but contempt for him, and took pleasure in making him sensible of it.  This King of the Church, in part of the State, and in private of his society, became a common Jesuit like the rest, and under superiors; it may be imagined what a hell this was to a man so impetuous and so accustomed to a domination without reply, and without bounds, and abused in every fashion.  Thus he did not endure it long.  Nothing more was heard of him, and he died after having been only six months at La Fleche.

There was another death, which I may as well mention here, as it occurred about the same time.

On Saturday evening, the 15th of April, 1719, the celebrated and fatal Madame de Maintenon died at Saint-Cyr.  What a stir this event would have made in Europe, had it happened a few years earlier.  It was scarcely mentioned in Paris!

I have already said so much respecting this woman, so unfortunately famous, that I will say but little more now.  Her life at Saint-Cyr was divided between her spiritual duties, the letters she received, from her religious correspondents, and the answers she gave to them.  She took the communion twice a-week, ordinarily between seven and eight o’clock in the morning; not, as Dangeau says in his Memoires, at midnight or every day.  She was very rich, having four thousand livres pension per month from the Regent, besides other emoluments.  She had, too, her estate at Maintenon, and some other property.  With all this wealth, too, she had not a farthing of expense at Saint-Cyr.  Everything was provided for herself and servants and their horses, even wood, coals, and candles.  She had nothing to buy, except dress for herself and for her people.  She kept a steward, a valet, people for the horses and the kitchen, a coach, seven or eight horses, one or two others for the saddle, besides having the young ladies of Saint-Cyr, chambermaids, and Mademoiselle d’Aumale to wait upon her.

The fall of the Duc du Maine at the Bed of justice struck the first blow at her.  It is not too much to presume that she was well informed of the measures and the designs of this darling, and that this hope had sustained her; but when she saw him arrested she succumbed; continuous fever seized her, and she died at eighty-three years of age, in the full possession of all her intellect.

Regret for her loss, which was not even universal in Saint-Cyr, scarcely passed the walls of that community.  Aubigny, Archbishop of Rouen, her pretended cousin, was the only man I ever heard of, who was fool enough to die of grief on account of it.  But he was so afflicted by this loss, that he fell ill, and soon followed her.