“Dying man!” repeated the maréchale incredulously, “come, come, he is not dead yet; and whilst there is life there is hope; and I suppose you have carried your ideas of disinterestedness so far as to omit mentioning your friends, likewise. You will never have any worldly sense, I believe. My dear soul,” said she, stooping down and whispering in my ear, “you are surrounded by a set of selfish wretches, who care nothing for you unless you can forward their interests.” “I see it, I know it,” exclaimed I impatiently; “but though I beg my bread, I will not importune the king.” “As you please,” cried madame de Mirepoix, “pray do not let me disturb your intentions. Silly woman that you are, leave others to act the sublime and grand, your part should be that of a reasonable creature. Look at myself, suppose I had not seized the ball at the bound.” “You were born at Versailles,” answered I, smiling in spite of myself. “True, and I confess that with me the greatest of all sense is common sense, which produces that instinctive feeling of self-preservation implanted even in animals. But is the king indeed so very ill?” “He is, indeed, dangerously ill.” “I am very sorry,” answered she, “his majesty and myself were such old friends and companions; but things will now be very different, and we shall soon see the court filled with new faces, whilst you and I, my poor countess, may hide our diminished heads. A set of hungry wretches will drive us away from the princely banquet at which we have so long regaled, and scarcely will their eagerness leave us a few scattered crumbs--how dreadful! Yes, I repeat that for many reasons, we shall have just cause for regretting the late king.” “The _late_ king!” exclaimed I. “His majesty is not yet dead, madame la maréchale.” “I know that, but he will die; and by speaking of the event as if it had already taken place, we prepare our minds to meet the blow with greater resignation when it does fall. I am much concerned, I can assure you; but let us quit the close confined air of this corridor, and go where we may breathe a purer atmosphere.” She took me by the arm with a greater familiarity than she had ever before assumed, and led the way to my chamber, where I found the duc de la Vrillière awaiting me, to request I would return to the king, who had asked for me more than once. This consummate hypocrite seized the present opportunity of renewing his assurances of an unalterable attachment to me, vowing an eternal friendship. I was weak enough to believe him, and when I gave him my hand in token of reconciliation, I espied the maréchale standing behind him, making signals to me to distrust his professions.