n.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Sickness.--Death of the Queen.--Her Last Words.--The King's
Affliction.--His Saying.--Second Anonymous Letter.--Conversation with La
Dauphine.--Madame de Maintenon Intervenes.

While the Turks and the Imperialists were fighting in the plains of
Hungary, the King, followed by all his Court, had made his way towards
the frontiers of Alsace. He reviewed countless battalions, he made
promotions, and gave brilliant repasts and fetes.

The season was a little trying, and the Queen, though born in Spain, did
not accommodate herself to the June heat. As soon as business permitted
they took the road to the capital, and returned to Versailles with some
speed.

Scarcely had they arrived, when the Queen fell ill; it did not deserve
the name of sickness. It was only an indisposition, pure and simple,--an
abscess in the armpit; that was all. Fagon, the boldest and most
audacious of all who ever exercised the art of AEsculapius, decided that,
to lessen the running, it was necessary to draw the blood to another
quarter. In spite of the opinion of his colleagues, he ordered her to be
bled, and all her blood rushed to her heart. In a short time the
princess grew worse in an alarming fashion, and in a few moments we heard
that she was in her death-agony; in a few moments more we heard of her
death.

The King wept bitterly at first, as we had seen him weep for Marie de
Mancini, Louise de la Valliere, Henrietta of England, and the Duchesse de
Fontanges,--dead of his excesses. He set out at once for the Chateau of
Saint Cloud, which belonged to his brother; and Monsieur, wishing to
leave the field clear for him, went away to the Palais Royal with his
disagreeable wife and their numerous children.

His Majesty returned two days afterwards to the Chateau of Versailles,
where he, his son, and all the family sprinkled holy water over the
deceased; and this little ceremony being finished, they regained in
silence the Chateau of Saint Cloud.

The aspect of that gloomy Salon of Peace, converted into a catafalque;
the sight of that small bier, on which a beautiful, good, and indulgent
wife was reposing; those silent images, so full of speech, awoke the just
remorse of the King. His tears began once more to flow abundantly, and
he was heard to say these words:

"Dear, kind friend, this is the first grief you have caused me in twenty
years!"

The Infanta, as I have already related, had granted in these