to her
closet. Everybody retired, and he remained for half an hour. The Abbe
returned and Madame rang. I went into her room, the Abbe following me.
She was in tears. "I must go, my dear Abbe," said she. I made her take
some orange-flower water, in a silver goblet, for her teeth chattered.
She then told me to call her equerry. He came in, and she calmly gave
him her orders, to have everything prepared at her hotel, in Paris; to
tell all her people to get ready to go; and to desire her coachman not to
be out of the way. She then shut herself up, to confer with the Abbe de
Bernis, who left her, to go to the Council. Her door was then shut,
except to the ladies with whom she was particularly intimate, M. de
Soubise, M. de Gontaut, the Ministers, and some others. Several ladies,
in the greatest distress, came to talk to me in my room: they compared
the conduct of M. de Machault with that of M. de Richelieu, at Metz.
Madame had related to them the circumstances extremely to the honour of
the Duke, and, by contrast, the severest satire on the Keeper of the
Seals. "He thinks, or pretends to think," said she, "that the priests
will be clamorous for my dismissal; but Quesnay and all the physicians
declare that there is not the slightest danger." Madame having sent for
me, I saw the Marechale de Mirepoix coming in. While she was at the
door, she cried out, "What are all those trunks, Madame? Your people
tell me you are going."--"Alas! my dear friend, such is our Master's
desire, as M. de Machault tells me."--"And what does he advise?" said
the Marechale. "That I should go without delay." During this
conversation, I was undressing Madame, who wished to be at her ease on
her chaise-longue. "Your Beeper of the Seals wants to get the power into
his own hands, and betrays you; he who quits the field loses it." I went
out. M. de Soubise entered, then the Abbe and M. de Marigny. The
latter, who was very kind to me, came into my room an hour afterwards. I
was alone. "She will remain," said he; "but, hush!--she will make an
appearance of going, in order not to set her enemies at work. It is the
little Marechale who prevailed upon her to stay: her keeper (so she
called M. de Machault) will pay for it." Quesnay came in, and, having
heard what was said, with his monkey airs, began to relate a fable of a
fox, who, being at dinner with other beasts, persuaded one of them that
his enemies were seeking him, in order that he