Never within the memory of any one alive had been seen such a winter as that of 1407. The snow lay deep on the ground, wells were frozen to an extraordinary depth, wine was frozen in the barrel and bread at the bakers. Many people died of the cold, and it was known as “_le grand hiver_.”[220] The frost lasted sixty-six days, beginning in November. Louis d’Orléans had been ill on and off all the autumn, and had been staying at Beauté for the benefit of the fresh air of the forest which his father had so loved. Valentine and her children were still in the country, and the King at the Louvre. Isabeau had for some time been living in the hôtel Barbette, where she had given birth to her twelfth and last child, who was christened Philippe and died soon after. Isabeau was still weak, and had not recovered from her illness; she had displayed extraordinary grief at the death of this baby, for whom it was said she showed more affection than for any of her other children. She was altogether low and depressed in spirits, and Louis came every day to see and console her.
He was just then living at the hôtel de Nesle, not the great palace opposite the Louvre, but the one afterwards called the hôtel de Soissons, whence he and his daily rides to the hôtel Barbette were known and watched by the men of Burgundy.
On Wednesday evening, November 23, 1407, Louis and Isabeau were having supper and spending the evening together at the hôtel Barbette. Isabeau was splendidly dressed in long robes and an enormous headdress with horns, covered with jewels. It was only eight o’clock, but the night was dark and all the shops in that quarter were closed. Suddenly a messenger from the King was announced for the Duc d’Orléans, who said that he desired at once to see the Duke, as he had an important matter to speak to him about.
Louis rose, took his leave, and went out. Mounting his mule,[221] he rode carelessly along, swinging his embroidered glove and humming a song as he went. He was only accompanied by two esquires, both riding the same horse, a young German page or esquire, and four or five _varlets_ carrying torches. As they passed a dark corner by a wall close to the house of the Maréchal d’Evreux the horse of the two esquires seems to have been aware of the presence of some men concealed in the darkness, snorted violently, and ran away. The assassins rushed out and assailed the Duke, who, thinking it was a mistake, exclaimed, “I am the Duc d’Orléans,” to which, however, the reply was, “It is you we want.” The two esquires looked round, expecting he was following them, and seeing the struggle, managed to stop their horse, and returned. Louis d’Orléans lay dead on the ground, covered with wounds; his German page, who had defended him to the last, died as they came up, muttering, “_Mon maître_.” The assassins rode off at full speed, laughing and strewing _chaussetrapes_, or calthrops, behind them, and setting fire to a house to divert attention from their flight. In a moment cries of alarm resounded on all sides; the street was full of torches; some of the followers of the Duke rushed back to the hôtel Barbette to tell the Queen, who heard the tumult with terror and did not know what was happening.