The two Princes, and the two Princesses who sat by their sides, were more exposed to view than any other.  The Duc de Bourgogne wept with tenderness, sincerity, and gentleness, the tears of nature, of religion, and patience.  M. le Duc de Berry also sincerely shed abundance of tears, but bloody tears, so to speak, so great appeared their bitterness; and he uttered not only sobs, but cries, nay, even yells.  He was silent sometimes, but from suffocation, and then would burst out again with such a noise, such a trumpet sound of despair, that the majority present burst out also at these dolorous repetitions, either impelled by affliction or decorum.  He became so bad, in fact, that his people were forced to undress him then and there, put him to bed, and call in the doctor, Madame la Duchesse de Berry was beside herself, and we shall soon see why.  The most bitter despair was painted with horror on her face.  There was seen written, as it were, a sort of furious grief, based on interest, not affection; now and then came dry lulls deep and sullen, then a torrent of tears and involuntary gestures, yet restrained, which showed extreme bitterness of mind, fruit of the profound meditation that had preceded.  Often aroused by the cries of her husband, prompt to assist him, to support him, to embrace him, to give her smelling-bottle, her care for him was evident; but soon came another profound reverie—­then a gush of tears assisted to suppress her cries.  As for Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne she consoled her husband with less trouble than she had to appear herself in want of consolation.  Without attempting to play a part, it was evident that she did her best to acquit herself of a pressing duty of decorum.  But she found extreme difficulty in keeping up appearances.  When the Prince her brother-in-law howled, she blew her nose.  She had brought some tears along with her and kept them up with care; and these, combined with the art of the handkerchief, enabled her to redden her eyes, and make them swell, and smudge her face; but her glances often wandered on the sly to the countenances of all present.

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