and, in fatal confidence, trusted her resistance, and refused her
petition. It was a life-long sorrow; and he soon found his mistake. He
lived and died passionately attached to his wife, but never saw her
after her fall.

When she retired from court, to make room for the empire of the subtle
De Maintenon, it was her son, the Duc de Maine, who induced her, not
from love, but from ambition, to withdraw. She preserved, even in her
seclusion in the country, the style of a queen, which she had assumed.
Even her natural children by the king were never allowed to sit in her
presence, on a _fauteuil_, but were only permitted to have small chairs.
Every one went to pay her court, and she spoke to them as if doing them
an honour; neither did she ever return a visit, even from the royal
family. Her fatal beauty endured to the last: nothing could exceed her
grace, her tact, her good sense in conversation, her kindness to every
one.

But it was long before her restless spirit could find real peace. She
threw herself on the guidance of the Abbe de la Tour; for the dread of
death was ever upon her. He suggested a terrible test of her penitence.
It was, that she should entreat her husband's pardon, and return to him.
It was a fearful struggle with herself, for she was naturally haughty
and high spirited; but she consented. After long agonies of hesitation,
she wrote to the injured man. Her letter was couched in the most humble
language; but it received no reply. The Marquis de Montespan, through a
third person, intimated to her that he would neither receive her, nor
see her, nor hear her name pronounced. At his death she wore widow's
weeds; but never assumed his arms, nor adopted his liveries.

Henceforth, all she had was given to the poor. When Louis meanly cut
down her pension, she sent word that she was sorry for the poor, not for
herself; they would be the losers. She then humbled herself to the very
dust: wore the hardest cloth next her fair skin; had iron bracelets; and
an iron girdle, which made wounds on her body. Moreover, she punished
the most unruly members of her frame: she kept her tongue in bounds;
she ceased to slander; she learned to bless. The fear of death still
haunted her; she lay in bed with every curtain drawn, the room lighted
up with wax candles; whilst she hired watchers to sit up all night, and
insisted that they should never cease talking or laughing, lest, when
she woke, the fear of _death_ might come over