“Better than I expected,” I replied, “but he is desirous of sleeping.”
“So much the worse,” observed the duc de Cossé; “I should have thought better of his case had he been more wakeful.”
“Are you aware of the most imperative step for you to take?” inquired the maréchale de Mirepoix.
“No,” said I, “what is it?”
“To keep his majesty at Trianon,” replied she; “it will be far better for you that the present illness should take its course at Trianon rather than at Versailles.”
“I second that advice,” cried the duc de Richelieu, who just then entered the room; “yes, yes, as madame de Mirepoix wisely observes, this is the place for the king to be ill in.”
“But,” exclaimed I, “must we not be guided by the physicians’ advice?”
“Do you make sure of Bordeu,” said the duke, “and I will speak to La Martinière.”
M. de Cossé took me aside, and assured me that I might rely upon him in life or death. When we had conversed together for some minutes, I besought of him to leave the place as early as possible; “Take madame de Forcalquier with you,” said I, “your presence just now at Trianon would be too much commented upon.”
He made some difficulties in obeying me, but I insisted and he went. After his departure, the duc de Richelieu, the maréchale and myself walked together in the garden. Our walk was so directed that we could see through the colonnade every person who arrived up the avenue. We spoke but little, and an indescribable feeling of solemnity was mingled with the few words which passed, when, all at once, our attention was attracted by the sight of comte Jean, who rushed towards me in a state of frenzy.