He revealed himself all at once and entirely.  The recluses of Port-Royal were obliged to close their schools; they had to disperse.  Arnauld concealed himself with his friend Nicole.  “I am having search made everywhere for M. Arnauld,” said Louis XIV. to Boileau, who was supposed to be much attached to the Jansenists.  “Your Majesty always was lucky,” replied Boileau; “you will not find him.”

The nuns’ turn had come; orders were given to send away the pensioners (pupils); Mother Angelica set out for the house at Paris, “where was the battle-ground.” [Memoires pour servir a l’Histoire de Port-Royal, t. ii. p. 127.] As she was leaving the house in the fields, which was so dear to her, she met in the court-yard M. d’Andilly, her brother, who was waiting to say good by to her.  When he came up to her, she said to him, “Good by, my dear brother; be of good courage, whatever happens.”  “Fear nothing, my dear sister; I am perfectly so.”  But she replied, “Brother, brother, let us be humble.  Let us remember that humility without fortitude is cowardice, but that fortitude without humility is presumption.”  “When she arrived at the convent in Paris, she found us for the most part very sad,” writes her niece, Mother Angelica de St. Jean, “and some were in tears.  She, looking at us with an open and confident countenance, said, ’Why, I believe there is weeping here!  Come, my children, what is all this?  Have you no faith?  And at what are you dismayed?  What if men do rage?  Eh?  Are you afraid of that?  They are but flies!  You hope in God, and yet fear anything!  Fear but Him, and, trust me, all will be well;’ and to Madame de Chevreuse, who came to fetch her daughters, ’Madame, when there is no God I shall lose courage; but, so long as God is God, I shall hope in Him.’” She succumbed, however, beneath the burden; and the terror she had always felt of death aggravated her sufferings.  “Believe me, my children,” she would say to the nuns, “believe what I tell you.  People do not know what death is, and do not think about it.  As for me, I have apprehended it all my life, and have always been thinking about it.  But all I have imagined is less than nothing in comparison with what it is, with what I feel, and with what I comprehend at this moment.  It would need but such thoughts to detach us from everything.”  M. Singlin, being obliged to conceal himself, came secretly to see her; she would not have her nephew, M. de Sacy, run the same risk.  “I shall never see him more,” she said; “it is God’s will; I do not vex myself about it.  My nephew without God could be of no use to me, and God without my nephew will be all in all to me.”  The grand-vicar of the Archbishop of Paris went to Port-Royal to make sure that the pensioners had gone.  He sat down beside Mother Angelica’s bed.  “So you are ill, mother,” said he; “pray, what is your complaint?” “I am dropsical, sir,” she replied.  “Jesus! my dear mother, you say that as if it were nothing at all.—­Does not such a complaint dismay you?”