too, the
Gatekeepers's once so buxom Daughter lies ill: and Louis XV. is not a
man to be trifled with in his viaticum. Was he not wont to catechise his
very girls in the Parc-aux-cerfs, and pray with and for them, that they
might preserve their--orthodoxy? (Dulaure, viii. (217), Besenval, &c.)
A strange fact, not an unexampled one; for there is no animal so strange
as man.

For the moment, indeed, it were all well, could Archbishop Beaumont but
be prevailed upon--to wink with one eye! Alas, Beaumont would himself so
fain do it: for, singular to tell, the Church too, and whole posthumous
hope of Jesuitism, now hangs by the apron of this same unmentionable
woman. But then 'the force of public opinion'? Rigorous Christophe de
Beaumont, who has spent his life in persecuting hysterical Jansenists
and incredulous Non-confessors; or even their dead bodies, if no better
might be,--how shall he now open Heaven's gate, and give Absolution with
the corpus delicti still under his nose? Our Grand-Almoner Roche-Aymon,
for his part, will not higgle with a royal sinner about turning of the
key: but there are other Churchmen; there is a King's Confessor, foolish
Abbe Moudon; and Fanaticism and Decency are not yet extinct. On the
whole, what is to be done? The doors can be well watched; the Medical
Bulletin adjusted; and much, as usual, be hoped for from time and
chance.

The doors are well watched, no improper figure can enter. Indeed,
few wish to enter; for the putrid infection reaches even to the
Oeil-de-Boeuf; so that 'more than fifty fall sick, and ten die.'
Mesdames the Princesses alone wait at the loathsome sick-bed; impelled
by filial piety. The three Princesses, Graille, Chiffe, Coche (Rag,
Snip, Pig, as he was wont to name them), are assiduous there; when all
have fled. The fourth Princess Loque (Dud), as we guess, is already in
the Nunnery, and can only give her orisons. Poor Graille and Sisterhood,
they have never known a Father: such is the hard bargain Grandeur must
make. Scarcely at the Debotter (when Royalty took off its boots) could
they snatch up their 'enormous hoops, gird the long train round their
waists, huddle on their black cloaks of taffeta up to the very chin;'
and so, in fit appearance of full dress, 'every evening at six,' walk
majestically in; receive their royal kiss on the brow; and then walk
majestically out again, to embroidery, small-scandal, prayers, and
vacancy. If Majesty came some morning, with co