g
Louis himself came to her room and found her exhausted with weeping.
He endeavored to ascertain the cause of her overwhelming distress.
She, unwilling to be the occasion of an irreconcilable feud between
the mother and the son, evaded all his inquiries. He resorted to
entreaties, reproaches, threats, but in vain. Irritated by her
pertinacious refusal, he suddenly left her without speaking a word of
adieu.

Louise seemed now truly to be alone in the world, without a single
friend left her. But she then recalled to mind that she had formerly
entered into an agreement with the king that, in case of any
misunderstanding arising between them, a night should not pass without
an attempt at reconciliation. A new hope arose in her mind that the
king would either return, or send her a note to inform her that his
anger no longer continued.

"And so she waited and watched, and counted every hour as it was
proclaimed from the belfry of the palace. But she waited and watched
in vain. When at length, after this long and weary night, the daylight
streamed through the silken curtains of her chamber, she threw herself
upon her knees, and praying that God would not cast away the victim
who was thus rejected by the world, she hastened, with a burning cheek
and a tearless eye, to collect a few necessary articles of clothing,
and throwing on her veil and mantle, rushed down a private staircase
and escaped into the street. In this distracted state of mind she
pursued her way to Chaillot,[J] and reached the convent of the
Sisters of St. Mary, where she was detained some time in the parlor.
At length the grating was opened and a portress appeared. On her
request to be admitted to the abbess, she informed her that the
community were all at their devotions, and could not see any one.

[Footnote J: Chaillot was a village on the banks of the Seine, about a
mile and a half from the Tuileries, near the present bridge of Jena.
The nuns of the order of St. Mary had a celebrated convent here, where
persecuted grandeur often sought an asylum. Within the walls of this
convent the widowed queen of Charles I. and daughter of Henry IV. died
in the year 1669.]

"It was in vain that the poor fugitive entreated and asserted her
intention of taking the vows. She could extort no other answer, and
the portress withdrew, leaving her sitting on a wooden bench desolate,
heart-sick. For two hours she remained motionless, with her eyes fixed
upon the grating, b