"It was the spectacle of a man beside himself, who was forcing himself to keep the surface smooth, and who succumbed in the attempt." The dauphin took to his bed on the 14th of February; he believed himself to be poisoned, and said, from the first, that he should never recover.

His piety alone, through the most prodigious efforts, still kept up; he spoke no more, save to God, continually lifting up his soul to him in fervent aspirations.

"What tender, but tranquil views! What lively motions towards thanksgiving for being preserved from the sceptre and the account that must be rendered thereof! What submission, and how complete! What ardent love of God! What a magnificent idea of infinite mercy! What pious and humble awe! What invincible patience! What sweetness! What constant kindness towards all that approached him! What pure charity which urged him forward to God! France at length succumbed beneath this last chastisement; God gave her a glimpse of a prince whom she did not deserve.

Earth was not worthy of him; he was already ripe for a blessed eternity!" "For some time past I have feared that a fatality hung over the dauphin," Fenelon had written at the first news of his illness; "I have at the bottom of my heart a lurking apprehension that God is not yet appeased towards France.

For a long while He has been striking, as the prophet says, and His anger is not yet worn out.