to all the inns in Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and the Hague, but in vain--he
could find no trace of them. He began to despair of success, when the
idea struck him that a young French page of his, remarkable for his
quickness and intelligence, might be employed with advantage. He
promised to reward him handsomely if he succeeded in finding the young
woman, who was the cause of so much anxiety, and gave him the description
of her person. The page visited all the public places for many days,
without success; at length, one evening, at the play, he saw a young man
and woman, in a box, who attracted his attention. When he saw that they,
perceived he was looking at them, and withdrew to the back of the box to
avoid his observation, he felt confident that they were the objects of
his search. He did not take his eyes from the bog, and watched every
movement in it. The instant the performance ended, he was in the passage
leading from the boxes to the door, and he remarked that the young man,
who, doubtless, observed the dress he wore, tried to conceal himself, as
he passed him, by putting his handkerchief before his face. He followed
him, at a distance, to the inn called the Vicomte de Turenne, which he
saw him and the woman enter; and, being now certain of success, he ran to
inform the Ambassador. The Marquis de St. Gilles immediately repaired to
the inn, wrapped in a cloak, and followed by his page and two servants.
He desired the landlord to show him to the room of a young man and woman,
who had lodged for some time in his house. The landlord, for some time,
refused to do so, unless the Marquis would give their name. The page
told him to take notice that he was speaking to the Spanish Ambassador,
who had strong reasons for wishing to see the persons in question. The
innkeeper said they wished not to be known, and that they had absolutely
forbidden him to admit anybody into their apartment who did not ask for
them by name; but that, since the Ambassador desired it, he would show
him their room. He then conducted them up to a dirty, miserable garret.
He knocked at the door, and waited for some time; he then knocked again
pretty, loudly, upon which the door was half-opened. At the sight of the
Ambassador and his suite, the person who opened it immediately closed it
again, exclaiming that they, had made a mistake. The Ambassador pushed
hard against him, forced his way, in, made a sign to his people to wait
outside, and remained in the room. He saw before him a very handsome
young man, whose appearance perfectly, corresponded with the description,
and a young woman, of great beauty, and remarkably fine person, whose
countenance, form, colour of the hair, etc., were also precisely those
described by the Count of Moncade. The young man spoke first. He
complained of the violence used in breaking into the apartment of a
stranger, living in a free country, and under the protection of its laws.
The Ambassador stepped forward to embrace him, and said, 'It is useless
to feign, my dear Count; I know you, and I do not come here--to give pain
to you or to this lady, whose appearance interests me extremely.' The
young man replied that he was totally mistaken; that he was not a Count,
but the son of a merchant of Cadiz; that the lady was his wife; and, that
they were travelling for pleasure. The Ambassador, casting his eyes
round the miserably furnished room, which contained but one bed, and some
packages of the shabbiest kind, lying in disorder about the room, 'Is
this, my dear child (allow me to address you by a title which is
warranted by my tender regard for your father), is this a fit residence
for the son of the Count of Moncade?' The young man still protested
against the use of any such language, as addressed to him. At length,
overcome by the entreaties of the Ambassador, he confessed, weeping, that
he was the son of the Count of Moncade, but declared that nothing should
induce him to return to his father, if he must abandon a woman he adored.
The young woman burst into tears, and threw herself at the feet of the
Ambassador, telling him that she would not be the cause of the ruin of
the young Count; and that generosity, or rather, love, would enable her
to disregard her own happiness, and, for his sake, to separate herself
from him. The Ambassador admired her noble disinterestedness. The young
man, on the contrary, received her declaration with the most desperate
grief. He reproached his mistress, and declared that he would never
abandon so estimable a creature, nor suffer the sublime generosity of her
heart to be turned against herself. The Ambassador told him that the
Count of Moncade was far from wishing to render her miserable, and that
he was commissioned to provide her with a sum sufficient to enable her to
return into Spain, or to live where she liked. Her noble sentiments, and
genuine tenderness, he said, inspired him with the greatest interest for
her, and would induce him to go to the utmost limits of his powers, in
the sum he was to give her; that he, therefore, promised her ten thousand
florins, that is to say, about twelve hundred Louis, which would be given
her the moment she surrendered the promise of marriage she had received,
and the Count of Moncade took up his abode in the Ambassador's house, and
promised to return to Spain. The young woman seemed perfectly
indifferent to the sum proposed, and wholly absorbed in her lover, and in
the grief of leaving him. She seemed insensible to everything but the
cruel sacrifice which her reason, and her love itself, demanded. At
length, drawing from a little portfolio the promise of marriage, signed
by the Count, 'I know his heart too well,' said she, 'to need it.' Then
she kissed it again and again, with a sort of transport, and delivered it
to the Ambassador, who stood by, astonished at the grandeur of soul he
witnessed. He promised her that he would never cease to take the
liveliest interest in her fate, and assured the Count of his father's
forgiveness. 'He will receive with open arms,' said he, 'the prodigal
son, returning to the bosom of his distressed family; the heart of a
father is an exhaustless mine of tenderness. How great will be the
felicity of my friend on the receipt of these tidings, after his long
anxiety and affliction; how happy do I esteem myself, at being the
instrument of that felicity?' Such was, in part, the language of the
Ambassador, which appeared to produce a strong impression on the young
man. But, fearing lest, during the night, love should regain all his
power, and should triumph over the generous resolution of the lady, the
Marquis pressed the young Count to accompany him to his hotel. The
tears, the cries of anguish, which marked this cruel separation, cannot
be described; they deeply touched the heart of the Ambassador, who
promised to watch over the young lady. The Count's little baggage was
not difficult to remove, and, that very evening, he was installed in the
finest apartment of the Ambassador's house. The Marquis was overjoyed at
having restored to the illustrious house of Moncade the heir of its
greatness, and of its magnificent domains. On the following morning, as
soon as the young Count was up, he found tailors, dealers in cloth, lace,
stuffs, etc., out of which he had only to choose. Two valets de chambre,
and three laquais, chosen by the Ambassador for their intelligence and
good conduct, were in waiting in his antechamber, and presented
themselves, to receive his orders. The Ambassador shewed the young Count
the letter he had just written to his father, in which he congratulated
him on possessing a son whose noble sentiments and striking qualities
were worthy of his illustrious blood, and announced his speedy return.
The young lady was not forgotten; he confessed that to her generosity he
was partly indebted for the submission of her lover, and expressed his
conviction that the Count would not disapprove the gift he had made her,
of ten thousand florins. That sum was remitted, on the same day, to this
noble and interesting girl, who left the Hague without delay. The
preparations for the Count's journey were made; a splendid wardrobe and
an excellent carriage were embarked at Rotterdam, in a ship bound for
France, on board which a passage was secured for the Count, who was to
proceed from that country to Spain. A considerable sum of money, and
letters of credit on Paris, were given him at his departure; and the
parting between the Ambassador and the young Count was most touching. The
Marquis de St. Gilles awaited with impatience the Count's answer, and
enjoyed his friend's delight by anticipation. At the expiration of four
months, he received this long-expected letter. It would be utterly
impossible to describe his surprise on reading the following words,
'Heaven, my dear Marquis, never granted me the happiness of becoming a
father, and, in the midst of abundant wealth and honours, the grief of
having no heirs, and seeing an illustrious race end in my person, has
shed the greatest bitterness over my whole existence. I see, with
extreme regret, that you have been imposed upon by a young adventurer,
who has taken advantage of the knowledge he had, by some means, obtained,
of our old friendship. But your Excellency must not be the sufferer. The
Count of Moncade is, most assuredly, the person whom you wished to serve;
he is bound to repay what your generous friendship hastened to advance,
in order to procure him a happiness which he would have felt most deeply.
I hope, therefore, Marquis, that your Excellency will have no hesitation
in accepting the remittance contained in this letter, of three thousand
Louis of France, of the disbursal of which you sent me an account.'"
The manner in which the Comte de St. Germain spoke, in the characters of
the young adventurer, his mistress, and the Ambassador, made his audience
weep and laugh by turns. The story is true in every particular, and the
adventurer surpasses Gusman d'Alfarache in address, according to the
report of some persons present. Madame de Pompadour thought of having a
play written, founded on this story; and the Count sent it to her in
writing, from which I transcribed it.
M. Duclos came to the Doctor's, and harangued with his usual warmth. I
heard him saying to two or three persons, "People are unjust to great
men, Ministers and Princes; nothing, for instance, is more common than to
undervalue their intellect. I astonished one of these little gentlemen
of the corps of the infallibles, by telling him that I could prove that
there had been more men of ability in the house of Bourbon, for the last
hundred years, than in any other family."--"You prove that?" said
somebody, sneeringly. "Yes," said Duclos; "and I will tell you how. The
great Conde, you will allow, was no fool; and the Duchesse de Longueville
is cited as one of the wittiest women that ever lived. The Regent was a
man who had few equals, in every kind of talent and acquirement. The
Prince de Conti, who was elected King of Poland, was celebrated for his
intelligence, and, in poetry, was the successful rival of La Fare and St.
Aulaire. The Duke of Burgundy was learned and enlightened. His Duchess,
the daughter of Louis XIV., was remarkably clever, and wrote epigrams and
couplets. The Duc du Maine is generally spoken of only for his weakness,
but nobody had a more agreeable wit. His wife was mad, but she had an
extensive acquaintance with letters, good taste in poetry, and a
brilliant and inexhaustible imagination. Here are instances enough, I
think," said he; "and, as I am no flatterer, and hate to appear one, I
will not speak of the living." His hearers were astonished at this
enumeration, and all of them agreed in the truth of what he had said. He
added, "Don't we daily hear of silly D'Argenson,
[Rene LOUIS d'Argenson, who was Minister for Foreign Affairs. He was the
author of 'Considerations sur le Gouvernement', and of several other
works, from which succeeding political writers have drawn, and still draw
ideas, which they give to the world as new. This man, remarkable not only
for profound and original thinking, but for clear and forcible
expression, was, nevertheless, D'Argenson la bete. It is said, however,
that he affected the simplicity, and even silliness of manner, which
procured him that appellation. If, as we hope, the unedited memoirs left
by Rene d'Argenson will be given to the world, they will be found fully
to justify the opinion of Duclos, with regard to this Minister, and the
inappropriateness of his nickname.]
because he has a good-natured air, and a bourgeois tone? and yet, I
believe, there have not been many Ministers comparable to him in
knowledge and in enlightened views." I took a pen, which lay on the
Doctor's table, and begged M. Duclos to repeat to me all the names he had
mentioned, and the eulogium he had bestowed on each. "If," said he, "you
show that to the Marquise, tell her how the conversation arose, and that
I did not say it in order that it might come to her ears, and eventually,
perhaps, to those of another person. I am an historiographer, and I will
render justice, but I shall, also, often inflict it."--"I will answer for
that," said the Doctor, "and our master will be represented as he really
is. Louis XIV. liked verses, and patronised poets; that was very well,
perhaps, in his time, because one must begin with something; but this age
will be very superior to the last. It must be acknowledged that Louis
XV., in sending astronomers to Mexico and Peru, to measure the earth, has
a higher claim to our respect than if he directed an opera. He has
thrown down the barriers which opposed the progress of philosophy, in
spite of the clamour of the devotees: the Encyclopaedia will do honour to
his reign." Duclos, during this speech, shook his head. I went away,
and tried to write down all I had heard, while it was fresh. I had the
part which related to the Princes of the Bourbon race copied by a valet,
who wrote a beautiful hand, and I gave it to Madame de Pompadour. But
she said to me, "What! is Duclos an acquaintance of yours? Do you want
to play the 'bel esprit', my dear good woman? That will not sit well
upon you." The truth is, that nothing can be further from my
inclination. I told her that I met him accidentally at the Doctor's,
where he generally spent an hour when he came to Versailles. "The King
knows him to be a worthy man," said she.
Madame de Pompadour was ill, and the King came to see her several times a
day. I generally left the room when he entered, but, having stayed a few
minutes, on one occasion, to give her a glass of chicory water, I heard
the King mention Madame d'Egmont. Madame raised her eyes to heaven, and
said, "That name always recalls to me a most melancholy and barbarous
affair; but it was not my fault." These words dwelt in my mind, and,
particularly, the tone in which they were uttered. As I stayed with
Madame till three o'clock in the morning, reading to her a part of the
time, it was easy for me to try to satisfy my curiosity. I seized a
moment, when the reading was interrupted, to say, "You looked dreadfully
shocked, Madame, when the King pronounced the name of D'Egmont." At
these words, she again raised her eyes, and said, "You would feel as I
do, if you knew the affair."--"It must, then, be deeply affecting, for I
do not think that it personally concerns you, Madame."--"No," said she,
"it does not; as, however, I am not the only person acquainted with this
history, and as I know you to be discreet, I will tell it you. The last
Comte d'Egmont married a reputed daughter of the Duc de Villars; but the
Duchess had never lived with her husband, and the Comtesse d'Egmont is,
in fact, a daughter of the Chevalier d'Orleans.--[Legitimate son of the
Regent, Grand Prior of France.]--At the death of her husband, young,
beautiful, agreeable, and heiress to an immense fortune, she attracted
the suit and homage of all the most distinguished men at Court. Her
mother's director, one day, came into her room and requested a private
interview; he then revealed to her that she was the offspring of an
adulterous intercourse, for which her mother had been doing penance for
five-and-twenty years. 'She could not,' said he, 'oppose your former
marriage, although it caused her extreme distress. Heaven did not grant
you children; but, if you marry again, you run the risk, Madame, of
transmitting to another family the immense wealth, which does not, in
fact, belong to you, and which is the price of crime.'
"The Comtesse d'Egmont heard this recital with horror. At the same
instant, her mother entered, and, on her knees, besought her daughter to
avert her eternal damnation. Madame d'Egmont tried to calm her own and
her mother's mind. 'What can I do?' said she, to her. 'Consecrate
yourself wholly to God,' replied the director, 'and thus expiate your
mother's crime.' The Countess, in her terror, promised whatever they
asked, and proposed to enter the Carmelites. I was informed of it, and
spoke to the King about the barbarous tyranny the Duchesse de Villars and
the director were about to exercise over this unhappy young woman; but we
knew not how to prevent it. The King, with the utmost kindness,
prevailed on the Queen to offer her the situation of Lady of the Palace,
and desired the Duchess's friends to persuade her to endeavour to deter
her daughter from becoming a Carmelite. It was all in vain; the wretched
victim was sacrificed."
Madame took it into her head to consult a fortuneteller, called Madame
Bontemps, who had told M. de Bernis's fortune, as I have already related,
and had surprised him by her predictions. M. de Choiseul, to whom she
mentioned the matter, said that the woman had also foretold fine things
that were to happen to him. "I know it," said she, "and, in return, you
promised her a carriage, but the poor woman goes on foot still." Madame
told me this, and asked me how she could disguise herself, so as to see
the woman without being known. I dared not propose any scheme then, for
fear it should not succeed; but, two days after, I talked to her surgeon
about the art, which some beggars practise, of counterfeiting sores, and
altering their features. He said that was easy enough. I let the thing
drop, and, after an interval of some minutes, I said, "If one could
change one's features, one might have great diversion at the opera, or at
balls. What alterations would it be necessary to make in me, now, to
render it impossible to recognise me?"--"In the first place," said he,
"you must alter the colour of your hair, then you must have a false nose,
and put a spot on some part of your face, or a wart, or a few hairs." I
laughed, and said, "Help me to contrive this for the next ball; I have
not been to one for twenty years; but I am dying to puzzle somebody, and
to tell him things which no one but I can tell him. I shall come home,
and go to bed, in a quarter of an hour."--"I must take the measure of
your nose," said he; "or do you take it with wax, and I will have a nose
made: you can get a flaxen or brown wig." I repeated to Madame what the
surgeon had told me: she was delighted at it. I took the measure of her
nose, and of my own, and carried them to the surgeon, who, in two days,
gave me the two noses, and a wart, which Madame stuck under her left eye,
and some paint for the eyebrows. The noses were most delicately made, of
a bladder, I think, and these, with the ether disguises, rendered it
impossible to recognize the face, and yet did not produce any shocking
appearance. All this being accomplished, nothing remained but to give
notice to the fortuneteller; we waited for a little excursion to Paris,
which Madame was to take, to look at her house. I then got a person,
with whom I had no connection, to speak to a waiting-woman of the
Duchesse de Ruffec, to obtain an interview with the woman. She made some
difficulty, on account of the Police; but we promised secrecy, and
appointed the place of meeting. Nothing could be more contrary to Madame
de Pompadour's character, which was one of extreme timidity, than to
engage in such an adventure. But her curiosity was raised to the highest
pitch, and, moreover, everything was so well arranged that there was not
the slightest risk. Madame had let M. de Gontaut, and her valet de
chambre, into the secret. The latter had hired two rooms for his niece,
who was then ill, at Versailles, near Madame's hotel. We went out in the
evening, followed by the valet de chambre, who was a safe man, and by the
Duke, all on foot. We had not, at farthest, above two hundred steps to
go. We were shown into two small rooms, in which were fires. The two
men remained in one, and we in the other. Madame had thrown herself on a
sofa. She had on a night-cap, which concealed half her face, in an
unstudied manner. I was near the fire, leaning on a table, on which were
two candles. There were lying on the chairs, near us, some clothes, of
small value. The fortune-teller rang--a little servant-girl let her in,
and then went to wait in the room where the gentlemen were. Coffee-cups,
and a coffee-pot, were set; and I had taken care to place, upon a little
buffet, some cakes, and a bottle of Malaga wine, having heard that Madame
Bontemps assisted her inspiration with that liquor. Her face, indeed,
sufficiently proclaimed it. "Is that lady ill?" said she, seeing Madame
de Pompadour stretched languidly on the sofa. I told her that she would
soon be better, but that she had kept her room for a week. She heated
the coffee, and prepared the two cups, which she carefully wiped,
observing that nothing impure must enter into this operation. I affected
to be very anxious for a glass of wine, in order to give our oracle a
pretext for assuaging her thirst, which she did, without much entreaty.
When she had drunk two or three small glasses (for I had taken care not
to have large ones), she poured the coffee into one of the two large
cups. "This is yours," said she; "and this is your friends's; let them
stand a little." She then observed our hands and our faces; after which
she drew a looking-glass from her pocket, into which she told us to look,
while she looked at the reflections of our faces. She next took a glass
of wine, and immediately threw herself into a fit of enthusiasm, while
she inspected my cup, and considered all the lines formed by the dregs of
the coffee she had poured out. She began by saying, "That is
well--prosperity--but there is a black mark--distresses. A man becomes a
comforter. Here, in this corner, are friends, who support you. Ah! who
is he that persecutes them? But justice triumphs--after rain,
sunshine--a long journey successful. There, do you see these little
bags? That is money which has been paid--to you, of course, I mean.
That is well. Do you see that arm?"--"Yes."--"That is an arm supporting
something: a woman veiled; I see her; it is you. All this is clear to
me. I hear, as it were, a voice speaking to me. You are no longer
attacked. I see it, because the clouds in that direction are passed off
(pointing to a clearer spot). But, stay--I see small lines which branch
out from the main spot. These are sons, daughters, nephews--that is
pretty well." She appeared overpowered with the effort she was making.
At length, she added, "That is all. You have had good luck
first--misfortune afterward. You have had a friend, who has exerted
himself with success to extricate you from it. You have had lawsuits--at
length fortune has been reconciled to you, and will change no more." She
drank another glass of wine. "Your health, Madame," said she to the
Marquise, and went through the same ceremonies with the cup. At length,
she broke out, "Neither fair nor foul. I see there, in the distance, a
serene sky; and then all these things that appear to ascend all these
things are applauses. Here is a grave man, who stretches out his arms.
Do you see?--look attentively."--"That is true," said Madame de
Pompadour, with surprise (there was, indeed, some appearance of the
kind). "He points to something square that is an open coffer. Fine
weather. But, look! there are clouds of azure and gold, which surround
you. Do you see that ship on the high sea? How favourable the wind is!
You are on board; you land in a beautiful country, of which you become
the Queen. Ah! what do I see? Look there--look at that hideous,
crooked, lame man, who is pursuing you--but he is going on a fool's
errand. I see a very great man, who supports you in his arms. Here,
look! he is a kind of giant. There is a great deal of gold and silver--a
few clouds here and there. But you have nothing to fear. The vessel will
be sometimes tossed about, but it will not be lost. Dixi." Madame said,
"When shall I die, and of what disease?"--"I never speak of that," said
she; "see here, rather but fate will not permit it. I will shew you how
fate confounds everything"--shewing her several confused lumps of the
coffee-dregs. "Well, never mind as to the time, then, only tell me the
kind of death." The fortune-teller looked in the cup, and said, "You
will have time to prepare yourself." I gave her only two Louis, to avoid
doing anything remarkable. She left us, after begging us to keep her
secret, and we rejoined the Duc de Gontaut, to whom we related everything
that had passed. He laughed heartily, and said, "Her coffee-dregs are
like the clouds--you may see what you please in them."
There was one thing in my horoscope which struck me, that was the
comforter; because one of my uncles had taken great care of me, and had
rendered me the most essential services. It is also true that I
afterwards had an important lawsuit; and, lastly, there was the money
which had come into my hands through Madame de Pompadour's patronage and
bounty. As for Madame, her husband was represented accurately enough by
the man with the coffer; then the country of which she became Queen
seemed to relate to her present situation at Court; but the most
remarkable thing was the crooked and lame man, in whom Madame thought she
recognized the Duc de V-----, who was very much deformed. Madame was
delighted with her adventure and her horoscope, which she thought
corresponded very remarkably with the truth. Two days after, she sent
for M. de St. Florentin, and begged him not to molest the fortuneteller.
He laughed, and replied that he knew why she interceded for this woman.
Madame asked him why he laughed. He related every circumstance of her
expedition with astonishing exactness;--[M. de St. Florentin was
Minister for Paris, to whom the Lieutenant of Police was
accountable.]--but he knew nothing of what had been said, or, at least,
so he pretended. He promised Madame that, provided Bontemps did nothing
which called for notice, she should not be obstructed in the exercise of
her profession, especially if she followed it in secret. "I know her,"
added he, "and I, like other people, have had the curiosity to consult
her. She is the wife of a soldier in the guards. She is a clever woman
in her way, but she drinks. Four or five years ago, she got such hold on
the mind of Madame de Ruffec, that she made her believe she could procure
her an elixir of beauty, which would restore her to what she was at
twenty-five. The Duchess pays high for the drugs of which this elixir is
compounded; and sometimes they are bad: sometimes, the sun, to which they
were exposed, was not powerful enough; sometimes, the influence of a
certain constellation was wanting. Sometimes, she has the courage to
assure the Duchess that she really is grown handsomer, and actually
succeeds in making her believe it." But the history of this woman's
daughter is still more curious. She was exquisitely beautiful, and the
Duchess brought her up in her own house. Bontemps predicted to the girl,
in the Duchess's presence, that she would marry a man of two thousand
Louis a year. This was not very likely to happen to the daughter of a
soldier in the guards. It did happen, nevertheless. The little Bontemps
married the President Beaudouin, who was mad. But, the tragical part of
the story is, that her mother had also foretold that she would die in
childbirth of her first child, and that she did actually die in
child-birth, at the age of eighteen, doubtless under a strong impression
of her mother's prophecy, to which the improbable event of her marriage
had given such extraordinary weight. Madame told the King of the
adventure her curiosity had led her into, at which he laughed, and said
he wished the Police had arrested her. He added a very sensible remark.
"In order to judge," said he, "of the truth or falsehood of such
predictions, one ought to collect fifty of them. It would be found that
they are almost always made up of the same phrases, which are sometimes
inapplicable, and some times hit the mark. But the first are
rarely-mentioned, while the others are always insisted on."
I have heard, and, indeed, it is certainly true, that M. de Bridge lived
on terms of intimacy with Madame, when she was Madame d'Aioles. He used
to ride on horseback with her, and, as he is so handsome a man, that he
has retained the name of the handsome man, it was natural enough that he
should be thought the lover of a very handsome woman. I have heard
something more than this. I was told that the King said to M. de Bridge,
"Confess, now, that you were her lover. She has acknowledged it to me,
and I exact from you this proof of sincerity." M. de. Bridge replied,
that Madame de Pompadour was at liberty to say what she pleased for her
own amusement, or for any other reason; but that he, for his part, could
not assert a falsehood; that he had been, her friend; that she was a
charming companion, and had great talents; that he delighted in her
society; but that his intercourse with her had never gone beyond the
bounds of friendship. He added, that her husband was present in all
their parties, that he watched her with a jealous eye, and that he would
not have suffered him to be so much with her if he had conceived the
least suspicion of the kind. The King persisted, and told him he was
wrong to endeavour to conceal a fact which was unquestionable. It was
rumoured, also, that the Abbe de Bernis had been a favoured lover of
hers. The said Abbe was rather a coxcomb; he had a handsome face, and
wrote poetry. Madame de Pompadour was the theme of his gallant verses.
He sometimes received the compliments of his friends upon his success
with a smile which left some room for conjecture, although he denied the
thing in words. It was, for some time, reported at Court that she was in
love with the Prince de Beauvau: he is a man distinguished for his
gallantries, his air of rank and fashion, and his high play; he is
brother to the little Marechale: for all these reasons, Madame is very
civil to him, but there is nothing marked in her behaviour. She knows,
besides, that he is in love with a very agreeable woman.