de Lajard, minister of war,--alone,
powerless, but devoted; a few ladies of her suite, and the Princesse de
Lamballe, that friend of her happy and unhappy hours. Daughter-in-law of
the Duc de Penthievre, and sister-in-law of the Duc d'Orleans, the
Princesse de Lamballe had succeeded in the queen's heart to that deep
affection which Marie Antoinette had long entertained for the Comtesse
de Polignac. The friendship of Marie Antoinette was adoration. Chilled
by the coldness of the king, who had the virtues only, and not the
graces of a husband; detested by the people, weary of the throne, she
gave vent in private predilections to the overflow of a heart equally
desirous and void of sentiment. This favouritism was even accused; the
queen was calumniated in her very friendships.

The Princesse de Lamballe, a widow at eighteen, free from any suspicion
of levity, above all ambition and every interest from her rank and
fortune, loved the queen as a friend. The more adverse were the fortunes
of Marie Antoinette, the more did her young favourite desire to share
them with her. It was not greatness, but misfortune, that attracted her.
_Surintendante_ of the household, she lodged in the Tuileries, in an
apartment adjacent to the queen, to share with her her tears and her
dangers. She was sometimes obliged to be absent in order to go to the
Chateau de Vernon to watch over the old Duc de Penthievre. The queen,
who foresaw the coming storm, had written to her some days before the
20th of June a touching letter, entreating her not to return. This
letter, found in the hair of the Princesse de Lamballe after her
assassination, and _unknown until now_, discloses the tenderness of the
one and the devotion of the other.

"Do not leave Vernon, my dear Lamballe, before you are perfectly
recovered. The good Duc de Penthievre would be sorry and distressed, and
we must all take care of his advanced age, and respect his virtues. I
have so often told you to take heed of yourself, that if you love me you
must think of yourself; we shall require all our strength in the times
in which we live. Oh do not return, or return as late as possible. Your
heart would be too deeply wounded; you would have too many tears to shed
over my misfortunes, you who love me so tenderly. This race of tigers
which infests the kingdom would cruelly enjoy itself if it knew all the
sufferings we undergo. Adieu, my dear Lamballe; I am always thinking of
you, and you know I n