erned by her; for with him--I ask pardon
of your excessive beauty--custom does all. It is necessary, my dear
countess, to use the double lever you have, of your own charms and his
constant custom to do to-morrow what he does to-day because he did it
yesterday, and for this you lack neither grace nor wit."

I had heard a great deal concerning madame de Mirepoix; but I own to
you, that before I heard her speak I had no idea what sort of a person
she would prove. She had an air of so much frankness and truth, that it
was impossible not to be charmed by it. The greater part of the time I
did not know how to defend myself from her--at once so natural and so
perfidious; and occasionally I allowed myself to love her with all my
heart, so much did she seem to cherish me with all enthusiasm. She had
depth of wit, a piquancy of expression, and knew how to disguise those
interested adulations with turns so noble and beautiful that I have
never met, neither before nor since, any woman worthy of being compared
with her. She was, in her single self, a whole society; and certainly
there was no possibility of being wearied when she was there. Her temper
was most equable, a qualification rarely obtained without a loss of
warmth of feeling. She always pleased because her business was to
please and not to love; and it always sufficed her to render others
enthusiastic and ardent. Except this tendency to egotism, she was
the charm of society, the life of the party whom she enlivened by her
presence. She knew precisely when to mourn with the afflicted, and joke
with the merry-hearted. The king had much pleasure in her company: he
knew that she only thought how to amuse him; and, moreover, as he had
seen her from morning till evening with the marquise de Pompadour, her
absence from my parties was insupportable to him, and almost contrary to
the rules of etiquette at the chateau.

I cannot tell you how great was his satisfaction, when, at the first
supper which followed our intimacy, he saw her enter. He ran to meet her
like a child, and gave a cry of joy, which must have been very pleasing
to the marechale.

"You are a dear woman," he said to her, with an air which accorded with
his words, "I always find you when I want you; and you can nowhere be
more in place than here. I ask your friendship for our dear countess."

"She has it already, sire, from the moment I saw her; and I consider my
intimacy with her as one of the happiest chances of