Sacchini, struggling to contain his distress, bowed respectfully and immediately returned to Paris. He was brought to my mother's house. He entered in tears and threw himself into an armchair. We could only get a few broken phrases from him: 'My good friend, my children, I'm finished. The Queen, she no longer loves me! The Queen, she no longer loves me!' All our efforts to allay his grief were in vain. He refused to have dinner with us. He was very ill with gout...we took him back to his house and three later he died at the age of 56.