Good care was taken not to confide the secret to the wretched Duke, her husband; it was even thought that it might be possible to get him out of the way--to keep him in Paris, where by chance, indeed, he was detained. Philip of Orleans was really astonished when he beheld his agonised wife, and ordered an antidote to be given her; but time was lost in administering the _poudre de vipere_. The Duchess asked only for an emetic, and the doctors obstinately refused her one. Strange, too, the King, who, on his arrival, remonstrated with them, was equally unsuccessful in obtaining for the sufferer that which she craved. The medicos held steadily to their opinion: they had pronounced it to be cholera, and they would not swallow their own words. Were they in the plot? That did not follow. For, besides the professional pride which forbade them to belie themselves, they might fear to discover more than they wished--to act in a very uncourtier-like manner by discovering traces but too evident of poisoning. In such case the alliance, perhaps, might have been broken off, and the projects of both King and clergy for the Dutch and English crusade have come to nothing. Such blundering fellows would never have been forgiven. So the physicians were prudent and politic. It was altogether a grievous spectacle. Here was a woman universally beloved, yet who inspired no one with any strong feeling. Everybody was interested--went and came; but no one would assume any responsibility, no one obeyed her last and constant prayer. She wanted to eject the poison by the aid of an emetic. No one dared to give it her. "Look," she exclaimed, "my nose is gone--shrunk to nothing." It was observed, in fact, that it was already like that of an eight days' corpse. For all that, they stuck to the doctors' opinion: "It is nothing." With only one exception, nobody seemed uneasy about her; some even laughed. Mademoiselle de Montpensier alone showed indignation at all this heartless indifference, and had the courage to remark that "At any rate they should endeavour to save her soul," and went in search of a confessor. The people belonging to the household, one and all, recommended that the cure of St. Cloud should be sent for, certain that, as he was unknown to the Duchess, their mistress would confess nothing of moment to him. Mademoiselle, however, would not hear of him as confessor. "Fetch Bossuet," she said, "and meanwhile call in the Canon Feuillet." Feuillet was a very wary ecclesiastic, and quite as prudent as the physicians. He persuaded _Madame_ to offer herself up as a sacrifice to Heaven without accusing anyone. The Duchess said, in fact, to Marshal de Grammont, "They have poisoned me--but by mistake." She exhibited throughout an admirable discretion and perfect gentleness. She embraced the Duke, her husband, whispering to him--in allusion to the outrageous arrest of the Chevalier de Lorraine--that she had "never been unfaithful to him."