s
XIV.--such dignified proceedings are very unlike those of our master."
Mademoiselle Romans lost all her influence over the King by her
indiscreet boasting. She was even treated with harshness and violence,
which were in no degree instigated by Madame. Her house was searched,
and her papers seized; but the most important, those which substantiated
the fact of the King's paternity, had been withdrawn. At length she gave
birth to a son, who was christened under the name of Bourbon, son of
Charles de Bourbon, Captain of Horse. The mother thought the eyes of all
France were fixed upon her, and beheld in her son a future Duc du Maine.
She suckled him herself, and she used to carry him in a sort of basket to
the Bois de Boulogne. Both mother and child were covered with the finest
laces. She sat down upon the grass in a solitary spot, which, however,
was soon well known, and there gave suck to her royal babe. Madame had
great curiosity to see her, and took me, one day, to the manufactory at
Sevres, without telling me what she projected. After she had bought some
cups, she said, "I want to go and walk in the Bois de Boulogne," and gave
orders to the coachman to stop at a certain spot where she wished to
alight. She had got the most accurate directions, and when she drew near
the young lady's haunt she gave me her arm, drew her bonnet over her
eyes, and held her pocket-handkerchief before the lower part of her face.
We walked, for some minutes, in a path, from whence we could see the lady
suckling her child. Her jet black hair was turned up, and confined by a
diamond comb. She looked earnestly at us. Madame bowed to her, and
whispered to me, pushing me by the elbow, "Speak to her." I stepped
forward, and exclaimed, "What a lovely child!"--"Yes, Madame," replied
she, "I must confess that he is, though I am his mother." Madame, who
had hold of my arm, trembled, and I was not very firm. Mademoiselle
Romans said to me, "Do you live in this neighbourhood?"--"Yes, Madame,"
replied I, "I live at Auteuil with this lady, who is just now suffering
from a most dreadful toothache."--"I pity her sincerely, for I know that
tormenting pain well." I looked all around, for fear any one should come
up who might recognise us. I took courage to ask her whether the child's
father was a handsome man. "Very handsome, and, if I told you his name,
you would agree with me."--"I have the honour of knowing him, then,
Madame?"--"Most probab