Dec. 3.—Worse again to-day was the poor king: the little fair gleam, how soon did it pass away!
I was beginning to grow ill myself, from the added fatigue of disturbance in the night, unavoidably occasioned by the neighbourhood to an invalid who summoned her maids at all hours; and my royal mistress issued orders for a removal to take place.
My new apartment is at the end of the long dark passage mentioned, with bed-room cells on each side it. It is a very comfortable room, carpeted all over, with one window looking to the front of the house and two into a court-yard. It is the most distant from the queen, but in all other respects is very desirable.
I must now relate briefly a new piece of cruelty. I happened to mention to la première présidente my waiting for a page to bring the morning accounts.
“And where do you wait?”
“In the parlour, ma’am.”
“In my parlour? Oh, ver well! I will see to that!”
“There is no other place, ma’am, but the cold passages, which, at that time in the morning, are commonly wet as well as dark.”
“O, ver well! When everybody goes to my room I might keep an inn—what you call hotel.”
All good humour now again vanished; and this morning, when I made my seven o’clock inquiry, I found the parlour doors both locked! I returned so shivering to my queen, that she demanded the cause, which I simply related; foreseeing inevitable destruction from continuing to run such a hazard. She instantly protested there should be a new arrangement.