the engagement announced that evening at the court
dinner. Elizabeth wept throughout the meal. Louis XIV., it is said, made
awkward attempts at consolation by passing her the choicest dishes. At
the circle which followed, her son came up to kiss her hand. The memory
of his broken promise was fresh in her mind. To the astonishment of the
polished French court, she boxed the boy's ears soundly. An awful
silence followed this impulsive piece of maternal discipline. The young
duke, scarlet with mortification, stood abashed. His poor little pale
bride-elect grew whiter than ever; Elizabeth, hardly making a reverence
to the king, left the room. The people of Paris sided with the duchess.
They threatened the life of Madame de Maintenon if the other proposed
marriage, between Elizabeth's daughter and the Duke of Maine, was
insisted upon. "I am very grateful to my friends, the Parisian mob,"
Elizabeth writes to her aunt.

From this time the breach between Elizabeth and her husband was
complete. She was also estranged from her son. Her daughter was kept at
a long distance from her amidst the most corrupt surroundings. Elizabeth
became very lonely. The king, because of her opposition to the seizure
of the Palatinate, now ignored her. Her husband seldom spoke to her. Her
daughter was away but had been happily married. Her son, at this time,
was very dissolute and avoided meeting her. She writes:

"Here in this great court I live, a hermit. Day after day I spend alone
in my library. If visitors come I see them a few minutes, speak of the
weather or the newspaper, then back again to my solitude."

In 1701 her husband died. By her aunt Sophie's sensible advice,
reconciliation followed with the king and also with good-natured Madame
de Maintenon. Her son, after one or two successful campaigns in Spain,
returned to France loaded with honors. He turned again to his mother
with the old affection of his boyhood. Much may be forgiven the Duke of
Chartres because of his sincere, even if tardy, goodness to his mother.
Her old age was made happy by him. To others he might seem a heartless,
dissipated roue, to her he was the eighth wonder of the world the
strong, tender, manly son on whom she leaned. Her daughter, too, by
frequent, loving letters brought her comfort.

The Duchess of Orleans died December 8, 1722. Beside her coffin her son,
then Regent of France, clasped his sister in his arms and the two wept
bitterly for their German mothe