"My beloved friend," said the king, 'I have the small-pox; I am
still very ill."
"Nay, sire," interrupted I, "you must not fancy things worse than
they are; you will do well, depend upon it, and we shall yet pass
many happy days together."
"Do you indeed think so?" returned Louis XV. "May heaven grant
your prophecy be a correct one. But see the state in which I now
am; give me your hand."
He took my hand and made me feel the pustules with which his
burning cheeks were covered. I know not what effect this touch
of my hand might have produced, but the king in his turn patted
my face, pushed back the curls which hung negligently over my
brow; then, inclining me towards him, drew my head upon his
pillow. I submitted to this whim with all the courage I could
assume; I even went so far as to be upon the point of bestowing
a gentle kiss upon his forehead. But, stopping me, with a
mournful air, he said, "No, my lovely countess; I am no longer
myself, but here is a miniature which has not undergone the same
change as its unfortunate master."
I took the miniature, which I placed with respectful tenderness
in my bosom, nor have I ever parted with it since.
This scene lasted for some minutes, after which I was retiring,
but the king called me back, seized my hand, which he tenderly
kissed, and then whispered an affectionate "Adieu.
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