He was doubly tender to me that winter and spring because the accounts from England were so sad.  My dear brother Berenger had been killed at the battle of Alresford, and affairs looked very ill for the royal cause.  I wept for my brother; but, ah! those tears were as nothing compared with what I was soon to shed.

The Duke of Enghien arrived.  He was not to take the command of the army of the Low Countries, but of that of Germany.  He came on the very day we had heard of the loss of Freiburg in Brisgau, and all was at once activity.  I saw the inspection of the army just outside the city, and a glorious sight it was; bodies of infantry moving like one great machine, squadrons of cavalry looking invincible, all glittering with gold, and their plumes waving, the blue and gold banners above their heads; and the dear regiment of Conde, whence salutes from eye and hand came to me and my little Gaspard as they rode past.

I did not tremble as in the last campaign.  Ah! perhaps I did not pray so much.  I heard of the crossing of the Rhine at Brisach, and then came rumours of a tremendous battle at Freiburg.  The bells had only just begun to ring, when Pierre, our groom, galloped into the town, and sent up at once his packet.  His master, he said, was wounded, but not badly, and had covered himself with glory.  I tore open the packet.  There were a few lines by his own dear hand;—­

’My heart—­I shall be with thee soon to rest in thy care—­D.G.  Kiss your son.  Thy B.’

The rest of the packet was from my half-brother De Solivet, and told how, in the frightful attack on the vineyard at Freiburg, seven times renewed, my dear, dear Philippe had received a shot in the knee, just as he was grasping a Bavarian standard, which he carried off with him.  He would have returned to the charge, but faintness overpowered him, and he was supported on horseback from the field to the tent.  The wound had been dressed, and the surgeon saw no occasion for alarm.  M. de Solivet, who had a slight wound himself, and M. d’Aubepine, who was quite uninjured, though he had done prodigies of valour, would tend him with all their hearts.  I had better send the carriage and horses at once to bring him back, as the number of wounded was frightful, and means of transport were wanting.  Then followed a message of express command from my husband that I was not to think of coming with the carriage.  He would not have me at Freiburg on any account.

I submitted; indeed I saw no cause for fear, and even rejoiced that for a long time I should have my husband to myself.  I made all ready for him, and taught my little Gaspard now he would say:  ’Soyez le bienvenu, mon papa.’

So passed a week.  Then one day there was a clanking of spurs on the stairs; I flew to the door and there stood M. d’Aubepine.

‘Is he near?’ I cried, and then I saw he was white and trembling.

‘Ah! no,’ he cried; ’he is at Brisach!  We could bring him no farther.  Can you come with me, Madame?  He asked incessantly for you, and it might—­it might be that your coming may revive him.’