eral
times during the day, which was passed in prayers and reading.

On Tuesday, the 16th, the Dauphin was worse. He felt himself devoured by
a consuming fire, which the external fever did not seem to justify; but
the pulse was very extraordinary and exceedingly menacing. This was a
deceptive day. The marks on the Dauphin's face extended over all the
body. They were regarded as the marks of measles. Hope arose thereon,
but the doctors and the most clear-sighted of the Court could not forget
that these same marks had shown themselves on the body of the Dauphine; a
fact unknown out of her chamber until after death.

On Wednesday, the 17th, the malady considerably increased. I had news at
all moments of the Dauphin's state from Cheverny, an excellent apothecary
of the King and of my family. He hid nothing from us. He had told us
what he thought of the Dauphine's illness; he told us now what he thought
of the Dauphin's. I no longer hoped therefore, or rather I hoped to the
end, against all hope.

On Wednesday the pains increased. They were like a devouring fire, but
more violent than ever. Very late into the evening the Dauphin sent to
the King for permission to receive the communion early the next morning,
without ceremony and without display, at the mass performed in his
chamber. Nobody heard of this, that evening; it was not known until the
following morning. I was in extreme desolation; I scarcely saw the King
once a day. I did nothing but go in quest of news several times a day,
and to the house of M. de Chevreuse, where I was completely free. M. de
Chevreuse--always calm, always sanguine--endeavoured to prove to us by
his medical reasonings that there was more reason to hope than to fear,
but he did so with a tranquillity that roused my impatience. I returned
home to pass a cruel night.

On Thursday morning, the 18th of February, I learned that the Dauphin,
who had waited for midnight with impatience, had heard mass immediately
after the communion, had passed two hours in devout communication with
God, and that his reason then became embarrassed. Madame de Saint-Simon
told me afterwards that he had received extreme unction: in fine, that he
died at half-past eight. These memoirs are not written to describe my
private sentiments. But in reading them,--if, long after me, they shall
ever appear, my state and that of Madame de Saint-Simon will only too
keenly be felt. I will content myself with saying, that the first d