Those spiteful persons who told the Queen how obliging the Duchesse de
Montausier had shown herself towards me were also so extremely kind as to
write an account of the whole affair to the Marquis de Montespan.

At that time he was still in Paris, and one day he went to the Duchess
just as she was getting out of bed. In a loud voice he proceeded to
scold her, daring to threaten her as if she were some common woman; in
fact, he caught hold of her and endeavoured to strike her.

The King would not allow M. de Montausier to obtain redress from the
Marquis for such an insult as this. He granted a large pension to the
Duchess, and appointed her husband preceptor to the Dauphin.

Such honours and emoluments partly recompensed the Duchess, yet they
scarcely consoled her. She considered that her good name was all but
lost, and what afflicted her still more was that she never recovered her
health. She used to visit me, as our duties brought us together, but it
was easy to see that confidence and friendship no longer existed.

One day, when passing along one of the castle corridors, which, being so
gloomy, need lamplight at all hours, she perceived a tall white phantom,
which glared hideously at her, and then approaching, vanished. She was
utterly prostrated, and on returning to her apartments was seized with
fever and shivering. The doctors perceived that her brain was affected;
they ordered palliatives, but we soon saw that there was no counting upon
their remedies. She was gradually sinking.

Half an hour before she died the Duchess sent for me, having given
instructions that we should be left alone, and that there should be no
witnesses. Her intense emaciation was pitiful, and yet her face kept