I was
carried under the portico, while the poor marechale, scarcely
more in her senses than myself, stood over me weeping like a
child, while every endeavour was being made to restore me to
life. Bordeu, who chanced to be at Versailles, arrived, and
supposing it was on my account he had been summoned, hastened
to my assistance. The duc de Richelieu and comte Jean informed
him of all that had passed, upon which he requested to see the
unfortunate female immediately; while he was conducted thither,
I remained alone with the marechale and Henriette, who had come
to Trianon with my suite. My first impulse upon regaining the
use of my senses, was to throw myself in the arms of the marechale.
"What will become of me?" exclaimed I, weeping, "if the king
should take this fatal malady, he will never survive it."
"Let us hope for the best," answered madame de Mirepoix; "it
would be encouraging grief to believe a misfortune, which we have
at present no reason to suspect."
Comte Jean now rejoined us, accompanied by Bordeu and the duc de
Richelieu; their countenances were gloomy and dejected. The
miserable victim of ambition had the symptoms of the most malignant
sort of small-pox; this was a finishing stroke to my previous
alarms. However, comte Jean whispered in my ear, "Bordeu will
arrange that the king shall remain here.
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