King James had already taken leave of his children, but they were permitted to see him several times before he died; and he always smiled lovingly, even though he could not speak to them. The day before he expired King James bade farewell to the queen, and requested her to write to his daughter, the Princess Anne, and assure her of his forgiveness; also to charge her to atone to her brother for the injury she had done him. Then he gave some advice about the prince; and when Mary Beatrice was overcome with emotion, he asked tenderly: "Why is this? Are you not flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone--are you not a part of myself? How is it, then, that one part of me should feel so differently from the other? I in joy and you in despair. My joy is in the hope I feel that God in his mercy will forgive me my sins and receive me into his beatitude, and you are afflicted at it. I have long sighed for this happy moment, and you know it well: cease, then, to lament for me. I will pray for you,--farewell!" This was the last interview the queen had with her husband, for he sank into a state of unconsciousness, and died the next afternoon at three o'clock. It was Father Ruga, the queen's confessor, who informed her when all was over. Although the blow was expected, it was hard to bear; for {311}Mary Beatrice had hoped to the last that her husband might still be spared to her. Her resignation to the will of God was perfect; but her sorrow was heartfelt and bitter. Crowds of French and English of all degrees passed in and out to take a last look at the dead king, who had requested that his chamber door might be left open for that purpose. Then all the courtiers went to the prince and saluted him as king, and at the same time he was proclaimed at the gates of St. Germain by the title of James III., King of England, Scotland, Ireland, and France. Court etiquette required that the queen also should offer the homage of a subject to her boy. She said to him: "Sir, I acknowledge you for my king; but I hope you will not forget that you are my son." She was so overcome by this ceremony that she retired at once, and was driven to the convent of Chaillot, where she desired to pass the first days of her widowhood in complete solitude, refusing to see any one whatsoever. The chapel had all been hung in black by the nuns as soon as the king's death was announced, and when the tolling of the bell warned them of Mary Beatrice's approach, they went in procession to receive her at the convent gate. She descended from her coach in silence, followed by four noble ladies who had accompanied her. The nuns gathered around her without speaking, the abbess kissed the hem of her robe, some of the sisters embraced her knees, and others respectfully pressed their lips to her hand, but no one ventured to offer a word of comfort.