states, for the Count talked of attacking and of killing, without
further ado, the Marquis d'Effiat, M. de Remecourt, the Prince's
intendant, named Morel, and even the Duc d'Orleans himself.

[Morel subsequently admitted his guilt in the matter of Madame's death,
as well as the commission of other corresponding crimes. See the Letters
of Charlotte, the Princess Palatine.--EDITOR'S NOTE.]

His intense agitation was succeeded by profound melancholy, stupor
closely allied to insanity or death.

One evening, the Comte de Guiche went to the Abbey Church of Saint Denis.
He hid himself here, to avoid being watched, and when the huge nave was
closed, and all the attendants had left, he rushed forward and flung
himself at full length upon the tombstone which covers the vast royal
vault. By the flickering light of the lamps, he mourned the passing
hence of so accomplished a woman, murdered in the flower of her youth. He
called her by name, telling her once more of his deep and fervent love.
Next day, he wandered about in great pain, gloomy and inconsolable.

One day he came to see me at Clagny, and talked in a hopeless, desolate
way about our dear one. He told me that neither glory nor ambition nor
voluptuous pleasures could ever allure him or prove soothing to his soul.
He assured me that life was a burden to him,--a burden that religion
alone prevented him from relinquishing, and that he was determined to
shut himself up in La Trappe or in some such wild, deserted place.

I sought to dissuade him from such a project, which could only be the
cause of grief and consternation to his relatives. He pretended to yield
to my entreaties, but the next night he left home and disappeared.

At length he came back. Luckily, the Trappist Abbe de Ranch wished to
take away from him the portrait on enamel of Henrietta of England, so as
to break it in pieces before his eyes. So indignant was the Count that
he was upon the point of giving the hermit a thrashing. He fled in
disgust from the monastery, and this fresh annoyance served, in some
degree, to assuage his grief. Life's daily occupations, the excitements
of society, the continual care shown towards him by his relatives, youth,
above all, and Time, the irresistible healer, at last served to soothe a
sorrow which, had it lasted longer, would have been more disastrous in
its results.

The Comte de Guiche consented to marry a wife to whom he was but slightly
attached, and who is