refusal he had just met with, exclaimed that as I did not think such work beneath me, the rest would do well to imitate my example.  Without a word being spoken each took up his sack; and from that time forward no further difficulty occurred in the matter.  As soon as the detachment had gone, Marin went straight to the King and told him what had occurred.  This was a service which procured for me several obliging discourses from his Majesty, who during the rest of the siege always sought to say something agreeable every time he met me.

The twenty-seventh day after opening the trenches, that is, the first of July, 1692, a parley was sounded by the Prince de Barbanqon, governor of the place,—­a fortunate circumstance for the besiegers, who were worn out with fatigue; and destitute of means, on account of the wretched weather which still continued, and which had turned the whole country round into a quagmire.  Even the horses of the King lived upon leaves, and not a horse of all our numerous cavalry ever thoroughly recovered from the effects of such sorry fare.  It is certain that without the presence of the King the siege might never have been successful; but he being there, everybody was stimulated.  Yet had the place held out ten days longer, there is no saying what might have happened.  Before the end of the siege the King was so much fatigued with his exertions, that a new attack of gout came on, with more pain than ever, and compelled him to keep his bed, where, however, he thought of everything, and laid out his plans as though he had been at Versailles.

During the entire siege, the Prince of Orange (William III. of England) had unavailingly used all his science to dislodge the Duc de Luxembourg; but he had to do with a man who in matters of war was his superior, and who continued so all his life.  Namur, which, by the surrender of the castle, was now entirely in our power, was one of the strongest places in the Low Countries, and had hitherto boasted of having never changed masters.  The inhabitants could not restrain their tears of sorrow.  Even the monks of Marlaigne were profoundly moved, so much so, that they could not disguise their grief.  The King, feeling for the loss of their corn that they had sent for safety into Namur, gave them double the quantity, and abundant alms.  He incommoded them as little as possible, and would not permit the passage of cannon across their park, until it was found impossible to transport it by any other road.  Notwithstanding these acts of goodness, they could scarcely look upon a Frenchman after the taking of the place; and one actually refused to give a bottle of beer to an usher of the King’s antechamber, although offered a bottle of champagne in exchange for it!