Perhaps no person ever entertained so great a dread of death as Louis XV, consequently no one required to be more carefully prepared for the alarming intelligence so abruptly communicated by La MartiniÈre, and which, in a manner, appeared to sign the king’s death-warrant.

To every person who approached him the despairing monarch could utter only the fatal phrase, “I have the small-pox,” which, in his lips, was tantamount to his declaring himself a dead man. Alas! had his malady been confined to the small-pox, he might still have been spared to our prayers; but, unhappily, a complication of evils, which had long been lurking in his veins, burst forth with a violence which, united to his cruel complaint, bade defiance to surgical or medical skill.

Yet, spite of the terror with which the august sufferer contemplated his approaching end, he did not lose sight of the interests of the nation as vested in the person of the dauphin, whom he positively prohibited, as well as his other grandsons, from entering his chamber or even visiting the part of the chÂteau he occupied. After this he seemed to divest himself of all further care for sublunary things; no papers were brought for his inspection, nor did he ever more sign any official document.

The next request made by Louis XV was for his daughters, who presented themselves bathed in tears, and vainly striving to repress that grief which burst forth in spite of all their endeavours. The king replied to their sobs, by saying, “My children, I have the small-pox; but weep not. These gentlemen [pointing towards the physicians] assure me they can cure me.” But, while uttering this cheerful sentence, his eye caught the stern and iron countenance of La MartiniÈre, whose look of cool disbelief seemed to deny the possibility of such an event.

With a view to divert her father from the gloom which all at once came over his features, the princess AdÉlaÏde informed him that she had a letter addressed to him by her sister, madame Louise.

“Let me hear it,” cried the king; “it is, no doubt, some heavenly mission with which she is charged. But who knows?” He stopped, but it was easy to perceive that to the fear of death was added a dread of his well-being in another world. Madame AdÉlaÏde then read the letter with a low voice, while the attendants retired to a respectful distance. All eyes were directed to the countenance of the king, in order to read there the nature of its contents; but already had the ravages of his fatal disease robbed his features of every expression, save that of pain and suffering.

The princesses now took their stations beside their parent, and established themselves as nurses, an office which, I can with truth affirm, they continued to fill unto the last with all the devotion of the purest filial piety.

On this same day Louis XV caused me to be sent for. I ran to his bedside trembling with alarm. The various persons engaged in his apartment retired when they saw me, and we were left alone.

“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.” These were the last words I ever heard from his lips.

Upon re-entering my apartments I found madame de Mirepoix awaiting me, to whom I related all that had taken place, expressing, at the same time, my earnest hope of being again summoned, ere long, to the presence of my friend and benefactor.

“Do not deceive yourself, my dear,” said she; “depend upon it you have had your last interview; you should have employed it more profitably. His portrait! why, if I mistake not, you have five already. Why did you not carry about with you some deed of settlement ready for signature? he would have denied you nothing at such a moment, when you may rest assured he knew himself to be taking his last farewell.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed I. “And can you really suppose the king believed he spoke to me for the last time?”

“I have not the slightest doubt of it; I have known him for many a day. He remembers the scene of Metz, and looks upon you as forming the second edition of the poor duchesse de Chateauroux, who, by the by, was not equal to you in any respect.”

I burst into a fit of tears, but not of regret for having allowed my late interview with the king to pass in so unprofitable a manner. However, the marÉchale, misconceiving the cause of this burst of grief, exclaimed, “Come, come; it is too late now, and all your sorrow cannot recall the last half-hour. But, mademoiselle du Barry,” continued she, “I advise you to commence your packing up at once, that when the grand move comes you may not in your hurry, leave anything behind you.”

These remarks increased my affliction, but the marÉchale had no intention of wounding my feelings, and worldly-minded as she was, considered all that could be saved out of the wreck as the only subject worthy attention. Meanwhile, comte Jean, with a gloomy and desponding air, continued silently with folded arms to pace the room, till all at once, as if suddenly struck by the arguments of madame de Mirepoix, he exclaimed,

“The marÉchale is right”; and abruptly quitted the apartment, as if to commence his own preparations.

Ere madame de Mirepoix had left me and she remained till a late hour, the ducs d’Aiguillon and de CossÉ arrived, who, although less experienced in their knowledge of the king’s character, were yet fully of her opinion respecting my last visit to him.

Scarcely had these visitors withdrawn, than I was apprized that the chancellor of France desired to see me. He was admitted, and the first glance of the countenance of M. de Maupeou convinced me that our day of power was rapidly closing.

“Your servant, cousin,” said he, seating himself without the smallest ceremony; “at what page of our history have we arrived?”

“By the unusual freedom and effrontery of your manner,” answered I, “I should surmise that we have reached the word finis.”

“Oh,” replied the chancellor, “I crave your pardon for having omitted my best bow; but, my good cousin, my present visit is a friendly one, to advise you to burn your papers with as little delay as possible.”

“Thank you for your considerate counsel,” said I, coolly, “but I have no papers to destroy. I have neither mixed with any state intrigue, nor received a pension from the English government. Nothing will be found in my drawers but some unanswered billets-doux.”

“Then as I can do nothing for you, my good cousin, oblige me by giving this paper to the duc d’Aiguillon.”

“What is it?” inquired I, with much curiosity.

“Have you forgotten our mutual engagement to support each other, and not to quit the ministry until the other retired also? I have lately been compelled (from perceiving how deeply the duke was manoeuvering against me) to send him a copy of this agreement. Under other circumstances I might have availed myself of this writing, but now it matters not; the blow which dismisses me proceeds from other hands than his, and I am willing to leave him the consolation of remaining in power a few days after myself. Give him, then, this useless document; and now, farewell, my pretty cousin, let us take a last embrace.”

Upon which the chancellor, presuming until the last upon our imaginary relationship, kissed my cheek, and having put into my hands the paper in question, retired with a profound bow.

This ironical leave taking left me stupefied with astonishment, and well I presaged my coming disgrace from the absurd mummery the chancellor had thought fit to play off.

Comte Jean, who had seen M. de Maupeou quit the house, entered my apartment to inquire the reason of his visit. Silent and dejected, I allowed my brother-in-law to take up the paper, which he read without any ceremony. “What is the meaning of this scrawl?” cried comte Jean, with one of his usual oaths; “upon my word our cousin is a fine fellow,” continued he, crushing the paper between his fingers. “I’ll engage that he still hopes to keep his place; however, one thing consoles me, and that is, that both he and his parliament will soon be sent to the right about.”

Our conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Chamilly, who came to acquaint me that the king was sleeping, and did not wish to be again disturbed that night. Remembering my usual omnipotence in the chÂteau, I was about, like a true idiot, to prove to Chamilly that the king’s interdict did not extend to me, when I was stopped in my purpose by the appearance of the duc d’Aiguillon; and as it was now nearly eleven o’clock at night, I could scarcely doubt his being the bearer of some extraordinary message.