Madame de Pompadour repeated to me this conversation, which I wrote down the same evening.  M. de Marigny, also, talked to me about it.  “Voltaire,” said he, “has always had a fancy for being Ambassador, and he did all he could to make the people believe that he was charged with some political mission, the first time he visited Prussia.”

The people heard of the attempt on the King’s life with transports of fury, and with the greatest distress.  Their cries were heard under the windows of Madame de Pompadour’s apartment.  Mobs were collected, and Madame feared the fate of Madame de Chateauroux.  Her friends came in, every minute, to give her intelligence.  Her room was, at all times, like a church; everybody seemed to claim a right to go in and out when he chose.  Some came, under pretence of sympathising, to observe her countenance and manner.  She did nothing but weep and faint away.  Doctor Quesnay never left her, nor did I. M. de St. Florentin came to see her several times, so did the Comptroller-General, and M. Rouilld; but M. de Machault did not come.  The Duchesse de Brancas came very frequently.  The Abbe de Bernis never left us, except to go to enquire for the King.  The tears came in his eyes whenever he looked at Madame.  Doctor Quesnay saw the King five or six times a day.  “There is nothing to fear,” said he to Madame.  “If it were anybody else, he might go to a ball.”  My son went the next day, as he had done the day the event occurred, to see what was going on at the Castle.  He told us, on his return, that the Keeper of the Seals was with the King.  I sent him back, to see what course he took on leaving the King.  He came running back in half an hour, to tell me that the Keeper of the Seals had gone to his own house, followed by a crowd of people.  When I told this to Madame, she burst into tears, and said, “Is that a friend?” The Abbe de Bernis said, “You must not judge him hastily, in such a moment as this.”  I returned into the drawing-room about an hour after, when the Keeper of the Seals entered.  He passed me, with his usual cold and severe look.  “How is Madame de Pompadour?” said he.  “Alas!” replied I, “as you may imagine!” He passed on to her closet.  Everybody retired, and he remained for half an hour.  The Abbe returned and Madame rang.  I went into her room, the Abbe following me.  She was in tears.  “I must go, my dear Abbe,” said she.  I made her take some orange-flower water, in a silver goblet, for her teeth chattered.  She then told me to call her equerry.  He came in, and she calmly gave him her orders, to have everything prepared at her hotel, in Paris; to tell all her people to get ready to go; and to desire her coachman not to be out of the way.  She then shut herself up, to confer with the Abbe de Bernis, who left her, to go to the Council.  Her door was then shut, except to the ladies with whom she was particularly intimate, M. de Soubise, M. de Gontaut, the Ministers, and some