" [Footnote: The queen's own words.--See Malleville,
"Histoire de Marie Antoinette," p. 197]
At this moment the door of the cabinet was dashed open without
ceremony, and the Duchess de Polignac entered.
"Forgiveness! your majesty, forgiveness that I have ventured to
disturb you, but--"
"What is it?" cried the queen, springing up. "You come to announce
misfortune to me, duchess. It concerns the dauphin, does it not? His
illness has increased?"
"Yes, your majesty, cramps have set in, and the physicians fear the
worst."
"O God! O God!" cried the queen, raising both her hands to heaven,
"is every misfortune to beat down upon me? I shall lose my son, my
dear child! Here I sit weeping pitiful tears about the malice of my
enemies, and all this while my child is wrestling in the pains of
death! Farewell, sir, I must go to my child."
And the queen, forgetting every thing else, thinking only of her
child--the sick, dying dauphin--hurried forward, dashing through the
room with such quick step that the duchess could scarcely follow
her.
"Is he dead?" cried Marie Antoinette to the servant standing in the
antechamber of the dauphin. She did not await the reply, but burst
forward, hastily opened the door of the sick-room, and entered.
There upon the bed, beneath the gold-fringed canopy, lay the pale,
motionless boy, with open, staring eyes, with parched lips, and
wandering mind--and it was her child, it was the Dauphin of France.
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