As every one had now passed, she continued: "He must be sought, there is still some one else." After this, relates her Mémoires, "he smiled and we talked of something else."
They had arrived at the point of smiles and mutual intelligence. Nevertheless the Court returned to Saint-Germain (June 7th) without Mademoiselle having obtained the decisive word for which she was meekly begging. Lauzun opposed some barriers to every advance. Acting through prudence or calculation, he was to have cause to congratulate himself.
Fifteen days elapsed in détours and feigned flights. Mademoiselle was exasperated. Comprehending perfectly well that a Gascony cadet could not say bluntly, "Take me!" she still was so little capable of subterfuge that she found the "manners of M. de Lauzun towards her extraordinary." Lauzun was too subtle for one so simple. La Bruyère himself was going to renounce the hope of penetrating into his motives, and to avow it in the passage in which he paints him under the name of Straton: "A character equivocal, unintelligible; an enigma; a problem never solved."
Persuaded that her lover held back through respect, Mademoiselle resolved to attack affairs boldly. On June 20th, she went to enjoy the diversions of the fine season[228] at Versailles. Monsieur and Madame were at their château at Saint-Cloud. Mademoiselle followed the Court. Lauzun was absent, but he took pains from time to time to appear in the Queen's salon. One evening, when he had met Mademoiselle and when he was chaffing her on the subject of the Duc de Longueville, the Princess said to him vivaciously: "Assuredly I shall marry; but it will not be with that person. I pray that I may speak with you to-morrow, for I am resolved to address the King and I desire that all should be finished before July 1st." He replied: "I am going to-morrow to Paris, and Sunday without fail I shall be here, and we will then talk over everything; I begin also to desire to have all ended."
On Sunday (June 29th), towards evening, Lauzun had not yet arrived. Mademoiselle was notified that the Queen was awaiting her for the daily drive. She went out quickly, and ran across the Comte d'Ayen,[229] who had also an appearance of being in haste, and who said to her in passing, "Madame is dying; I am seeking M. Vallot,[230] whom the King has commanded me to lead to her!" Below in her carriage the Queen related the tale of the glass of chicory water and the fact that Madame believed herself to be poisoned. All were astonished and exclaimed, "Ah, what a horror!" People looked at each other and did not know what to do. Marie-Thérèse descended from her carriage and was peacefully entering a boat on the grand canal, when a gentleman arrived in haste; Madame was in extremity and besought the Queen not to delay if she wished to see her alive. The château was speedily regained, where the confusion recommenced. The Queen demanded every instant: "What shall I do? What shall I do?" She could not decide to go herself, and she prevented Mademoiselle from departing without her. Finally, the King appeared. He took the Queen in his coach with Mademoiselle and the Comtesse de Soissons. Mlle. de La Vallière and Mme. de Montespan followed. It was eleven o'clock when the royal family descended at the gate of the Château Saint-Cloud.
The spectacle which awaited it has been described a hundred times. A poor little dishevelled figure, pathetic from suffering, and already drawn by the approach of the dying agony, lay upon the bed. The unfastened chemise permitted her emaciation to be seen, and she was so pale that if it had not been for her cries it might have been thought that the end had already come. We know through Mme. de La Fayette[231] that the first sentiments of the spectators had been those of pity, natural in such a case, and here doubled by the sight of the frightful sufferings and the gentleness of this young and charming being in the presence of death. The state of Madame had touched even her husband, so embittered against her by her frivolities, and only the sound of "weeping was heard in the chamber."
With the entrance of the sovereigns and their suite the aspect of the room was at once altered. Louis was indeed sincerely affected, Mademoiselle much moved, and many of the others felt "that they were losing with Madame all the joy, all the agreeableness, all the pleasures of the Court."[232] But egotism and intrigue marched on the heels of their Majesties. Even while weeping, each began to dream over the consequences of this death. Who would inherit the prestige of Madame? Whom would Monsieur marry? Would it be the Grande Mademoiselle? How would this affect the interests of each? The dying woman felt a sudden chill in the atmosphere. "She perceived with pain the tranquillity of every one," reports Mademoiselle, "and I have never seen any sight so pitiable as her state when she realised the real attitude of those surrounding her bed. The crowd kept on talking, moving about in the room, almost laughing."
Monsieur was only "astonished" at what was happening. Mademoiselle having urged him to send for a priest, he said, "Whom shall we call? Whose name will appear well in the Gazette?" This preoccupation truly reveals Monsieur.
After the departure of the King, who took away others in his train, the scene again changed. Monsieur had sent for Bossuet, who, in a letter to one of his brothers, has related details of these last hours. To judge from this letter, it appears that the presence of the priest at the bedside of Madame turned all minds from terrestrial preoccupations and banished all thoughts except those impressed by the grandeur of death. Madame herself gave the example, proving with her last sigh that she felt she was accomplishing "the most important action of life."[233] "I found her fully conscious," said Bossuet, "speaking and acting without ostentation, without effort, without violence; but so well, so suitably, with so much courage and piety, that I was completely overcome." Thus God had the last word!