g said, as soon as he saw him: "Well!
M. Fagon, my brother is dead?"--"Yes, Sire," said Fagon, "no remedy has
taken effect."

The King wept a good deal. He was pressed to dine with Madame de
Maintenon; but he would not do so, and had his dinner, as usual, with the
ladies. The tears often ran down his cheek, during the meal, which was
short. After this, he shut himself up in Madame de Maintenon's rooms
until seven o'clock, and then took a turn in his garden. Afterwards he
worked with Chamillart and Pontchartrain; and arranged all the funeral
ceremonies of Monsieur. He supped an hour before his customary time, and
went to bed soon afterwards.

At the departure from St. Cloud of the King, all the crowd assembled
there little by little withdrew, so that Monsieur dying, stretched upon a
couch in his cabinet, remained exposed to the scullions and the lower
officers of the household, the majority of whom, either by affection or
interest, were much afflicted. The chief officers and others who lost
posts and pensions filled the air with their cries; whilst all the women
who were at Saint Cloud, and who lost their consideration and their
amusement, ran here and there, crying, with dishevelled hair, like
Bacchantes. The Duchesse de la Ferme, who had basely married her
daughter to one of Monsieur's minions, named La Carte, came into the
cabinet; and, whilst gazing on the Prince, who still palpitated there,
exclaimed, giving vent to her profound reflections, "Pardi! Here is a
daughter well married!"

"A very important matter!" cried Chatillon, who himself lost everything
by this death. "Is this a moment to consider whether your daughter is
well married or not?"

Madame, who had never had great affection or great esteem for Monsieur,
but who felt her loss and her fall, meanwhile remained in her cabinet,
and in the midst of her grief cried out, with all her might, "No convent!
Let no one talk of a convent! I will have nothing to do with a convent!"
The good Princess had not lost her judgment. She knew that, by her
compact of marriage, she had to choose, on becoming a widow, between a
convent and the chateau of Montargis. She liked neither alternative; but
she had greater fear of the convent than of Montargis; and perhaps
thought it would be easier to escape from the latter than the former.
She knew she had much to fear from the King, although she did not yet
know all, and although he had been properly polite to her, co