He answered in great agitation– “You are not dying; I will not believe it—” He seemed afraid to come too near to her; she spoke calmly, with a world of wild feeling in her eyes. “You know I am not afraid of death–but I am afraid of losing your good thoughts—” “Talk of God, Madame,” he replied hoarsely. “Louis–I am dying,” she said. “Come and speak to me–close.” She made a little feeble movement with her hand, and the King came up to her bed. “I am poisoned,” she repeated; it seemed she wished to drive him to accept the statement to accuse some one. “You show great courage, Madame,” he said, and looked at her in a terrified manner. “I have never been afraid,” she repeated, “but I do not want to die.” “I will see your doctors,” he said. “There must be some remedy.” He turned away, seemed glad to go. Madame clutched hold of Mme de la Fayette. “I am horrible. Give me a mirror.” She reached out and caught up a heavy glass from her dressing-table; her frail strength could hardly lift it. She looked in it a second, then dropped it on the quilt. “Madame de la Fayette,” she said, “my nose has shrunk—” The lady could only weep. It was true; her nose had sunk into her face with a ghastly and corpse-like effect. She tossed herself about; whether in bodily or mental agony it was impossible to tell. Mme de Gamaches came to say that Mme de la Vallière and Mme de Montespan had come together. “Admit neither of them,” said Madame. She sent Mme de la Fayette out to them. The two would share the crown she had left. Why had they come now? They must be glad she was dying–not la Vallière perhaps; she was a gentle woman. It was now eleven o’clock, and the doctors suddenly informed the King that there was no hope; and those symptoms that two hours before they had vowed meant nothing they now declared the certain signs of gangrene and approaching death, and advised that Madame took the Holy Sacrament. The King accused them of losing their heads. Monsieur fought his way into the dressing-room where Madame lay and told her, in an agitated manner, what they had said. “So I have their permission to die?” She gave a tragic smile and fixed her eyes on her husband. “Where is the King?” As she spoke he returned with the Queen and Mme de Soissons. Madame lay silent; the King approached her bed; he railed against the doctors: he seemed confused, bewildered. “I am no physician,” he said, “but I could have suggested thirty remedies they have not tried, and now they say there is no hope.” He stood irresolute, looking at her; the candlelight could give no colour to his fair face. She could not believe that he would not send away the others and sit by her till the end; she waited for that. For some tenderness on his part, some passion, some regret, she waited; he came up to her bed, kissed her hands and bade her adieu.