for M. Arnauld," said Louis
XIV. to Boileau, who was supposed to be much attached to the Jansenists.
"Your Majesty always was lucky," replied Boileau; "you will not find
him."

The nuns' turn had come; orders were given to send away the pensioners
(pupils); Mother Angelica set out for the house at Paris, "where was the
battle-ground." [_Memoires pour servir a l'Histoire de Port-Royal,_
t. ii. p. 127.] As she was leaving the house in the fields, which was so
dear to her, she met in the court-yard M. d'Andilly, her brother, who was
waiting to say good by to her. When he came up to her, she said to him,
"Good by, my dear brother; be of good courage, whatever happens." "Fear
nothing, my dear sister; I am perfectly so." But she replied, "Brother,
brother, let us be humble. Let us remember that humility without
fortitude is cowardice, but that fortitude without humility is
presumption." "When she arrived at the convent in Paris, she found us
for the most part very sad," writes her niece, Mother Angelica de St.
Jean, "and some were in tears. She, looking at us with an open and
confident countenance, said, 'Why, I believe there is weeping here!
Come, my children, what is all this? Have you no faith? And at what are
you dismayed? What if men do rage? Eh? Are you afraid of that? They
are but flies! You hope in God, and yet fear anything! Fear but Him,
and, trust me, all will be well;' and to Madame de Chevreuse, who came to
fetch her daughters, 'Madame, when there is no God I shall lose courage;
but, so long as God is God, I shall hope in Him.'" She succumbed,
however, beneath the burden; and the terror she had always felt of death
aggravated her sufferings. "Believe me, my children," she would say to
the nuns, "believe what I tell you. People do not know what death is,
and do not think about it. As for me, I have apprehended it all my life,
and have always been thinking about it. But all I have imagined is less
than nothing in comparison with what it is, with what I feel, and with
what I comprehend at this moment. It would need but such thoughts to
detach us from everything." M. Singlin, being obliged to conceal
himself, came secretly to see her; she would not have her nephew, M. de
Sacy, run the same risk. "I shall never see him more," she said; "it is
God's will; I do not vex myself about it. My nephew without God could be
of no use to me, and God without my nephew will be all in all to me."
The grand