received the following letter, which one of La Valliere's pages proffered
him on bended knee:

SIRE:--To-day I am leaving forever this palace, whither the cruellest of
fatalities summoned my youth and inexperience. Had I not met you, my
heart would have loved seclusion, a laborious life, and my kinsfolk. An
imperious inclination, which I could not conquer, gave me to you, and,
simple, docile as I was by nature, I believed that my passion would
always prove to me delicious, and that your love would never die. In
this world nothing endures. My fond attachment has ceased to have any
charm for you, and my heart is filled with dismay. This trial has come
from God; of this my reason and my faith are convinced. God has felt
compassion for my unspeakable grief. That which for long past I have
suffered is greater than human force can bear; He is going to receive me
into His home of mercy. He promises me both healing and peace.

In this theatre of pomp and perfidy I have only stayed until such a
moment as my daughter and her youthful brother might more easily do
without me. You will cherish them both; of that I have no doubt. Guide
them, I beseech you, for the sake of your own glory and their well-being.
May your watchful care sustain them, while their mother, humbled and
prostrate in a cloister, shall commend them to Him who pardons all.

After my departure, show some kindness to those who were my servants and
faithful domestics, and deign to take back the estates and residences
which served to support me in my frivolous grandeur, and maintain the
celebrity that I deplore.

Adieu, Sire! Think no more about me, lest such a feeling, to which my
imagination might but all too readily lend itself, only beget links of