“I doubt not its ability to cure others, but me! Indeed, duc de Richelieu, I would much rather face my old parliament than this inveterate disease.”
“Your majesty’s being able to jest is a good sign.”
At this moment, ignorant of all that had taken place, I entered the room; for, in the general confusion, no person had informed me of it. The moment Louis XV perceived me, he exclaimed in a hollow tone,
“Dearest countess, I have the small-pox.”
At these words a cry of terror escaped me.
“Surely, sire,” exclaimed I, “this is some wandering of your imagination, and your medical attendants are very wrong to permit you to indulge it for a minute.”
“Peace!” returned Louis XV; “you know not what you say. I have the small-pox, I repeat; and, thanks to La Martinière, I now know my real state.”
I now perceived whose hand had dealt the blow, and seeing at once all the consequences of the disclosure, exclaimed in my anger, turning towards La Martinière,
“You have achieved a noble work, indeed, sir; you could not restrain yourself within the bounds of prudence, and you see the state to which you have reduced his majesty.”
La Martinière knew not what to reply; the king undertook his defence.