The doors are well watched, no improper figure can enter. Indeed, few wish to enter; for the putrid infection reaches even to the _Œil-de-Bœuf;_ so that “more than fifty fall sick, and ten die.” Mesdames the Princesses alone wait at the loathsome sick-bed; impelled by filial piety. The three Princesses, _Graille, Chiffe, Coche_ (Rag, Snip, Pig, as he was wont to name them), are assiduous there; when all have fled. The fourth Princess _Loque_ (Dud), as we guess, is already in the Nunnery, and can only give her orisons. Poor _Graille_ and Sisterhood, they have never known a Father: such is the hard bargain Grandeur must make. Scarcely at the _Débotter_ (when Royalty took off its boots) could they snatch up their “enormous hoops, gird the long train round their waists, huddle on their black cloaks of taffeta up to the very chin;” and so, in fit appearance of full dress, “every evening at six,” walk majestically in; receive their royal kiss on the brow; and then walk majestically out again, to embroidery, small-scandal, prayers, and vacancy. If Majesty came some morning, with coffee of its own making, and swallowed it with them hastily while the dogs were uncoupling for the hunt, it was received as a grace of Heaven.[14] Poor withered ancient women! in the wild tossings that yet await your fragile existence, before it be crushed and broken; as ye fly through hostile countries, over tempestuous seas, are almost taken by the Turks; and wholly, in the Sansculottic Earthquake, know not your right hand from your left, be this always an assured place in your remembrance: for the act was good and loving! To us also it is a little sunny spot, in that dismal howling waste, where we hardly find another.