"I think..."
Before Queen Mary could think of how to respond, the nurse by the bed removed the thermometer from Louis XVI's mouth, turned, and handed it to the imperial physician. The nobles in the room immediately crowded around. Count of Artois, standing nearest, read the thermometer's result aloud. "Forty degrees Celsius... God! Wh-what are we supposed to do?"
Queen Mary had originally wanted to say, "His Majesty will surely hold on until Brittany," but she too was rather dumbfounded now. It seemed she had arranged things a little too far. Earlier, she had only thought the nobles would prevent the King from leaving Paris, so she had tried to make her husband seem as "gravely ill" as possible. But clearly, no one who had burned up to forty degrees should be making a six- or seven-hundred-kilometer journey...
Sure enough, the sickroom fell silent for a moment. Then Duke of Broglie was the first to turn aside and say in a low voice, "I believe we should convene a special Senate session as soon as possible to discuss how to address the current situation."
Archbishop Talleyrand shot him a glance, then strode to the middle of the sickroom. "The most urgent matter now is to notify the Crown Prince at once and have him return to Versailles Palace to take charge of the overall situation."
Everyone nodded in agreement.
Duke of Richelieu added, "And we must temporarily seal off news of His Majesty's illness from the outside."
Count of Artois looked toward his royal brother. "We must summon more renowned physicians for a consultation. We have to make sure His Majesty holds on until the Crown Prince returns." Beside them, Queen Mary was already frozen like a wooden chicken. Why did this sound like they were discussing the King's funeral