CHAPTER LVII

While Meudon was filled with horror, all was tranquil at Versailles, without the least suspicion.  We had supped.  The company some time after had retired, and I was talking with Madame de Saint-Simon, who had nearly finished undressing herself to go to bed, when a servant of Madame la Duchesse de Berry, who had formerly belonged to us, entered, all terrified.  He said that there must be some bad news from Meudon, since Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne had just whispered in the ear of M. le Duc de Berry, whose eyes had at once become red, that he left the table, and that all the company shortly after him rose with precipitation.  So sudden a change rendered my surprise extreme.  I ran in hot haste to Madame la Duchesse de Berry’s.  Nobody was there.  Everybody had gone to Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne.  I followed on with all speed.

I found all Versailles assembled on arriving, all the ladies hastily dressed—­the majority having been on the point of going to bed—­all the doors open, and all in trouble.  I learnt that Monseigneur had received the extreme unction, that he was without consciousness and beyond hope, and that the King had sent word to Madame de Bourgogne that he was going to Marly, and that she was to meet him as he passed through the avenue between the two stables.

The spectacle before me attracted all the attention I could bestow.  The two Princes and the two Princesses were in the little cabinet behind the bed.

The bed toilette was as usual in the chamber of the Duchesse de Bourgogne, which was filled with all the Court in confusion.  She came and went from the cabinet to the chamber, waiting for the moment when she was to meet the King; and her demeanour, always distinguished by the same graces, was one of trouble and compassion, which the trouble and compassion of others induced them to take for grief.  Now and then, in passing, she said a few rare words.  All present were in truth expressive personages.  Whoever had eyes, without any knowledge of the Court, could see the interests of all interested painted on their faces, and the indifference of the indifferent; these tranquil, the former penetrated with grief, or gravely attentive to themselves to, hide their emancipation and their joy.

For my part, my first care was to inform myself thoroughly of the state of affairs, fearing lest there might be too much alarm for too trifling a cause; then, recovering myself, I reflected upon the misery common to all men, and that I myself should find myself some day at the gates of death.  Joy, nevertheless, found its way through the momentary reflections of religion and of humanity, by which I tried to master myself.  My own private deliverance seemed so great and so unhoped for, that it appeared to me that the State must gain everything by such a loss.  And with these thoughts I felt, in spite of myself, a lingering fear lest the sick man should recover, and was extremely ashamed of it.