d to allow me to be blamed for no faults but
such as I had really been guilty of. I concluded with these words, "I
set out at seven o'clock to-morrow morning; the duchesse d'Aiguillon
will conduct me to Ruel, where I shall remain until I am ordered
elsewhere."

To the duke I merely sent a short account of my present prospects, hour
of departure, etc. And, my feelings somewhat relieved by the penning of
these epistles, I threw myself upon a couch to await the morning. Upon
awaking, I received the following note from the duchesse d'Aiguillon:--

"MADAME LA COMTESSE,--I owe his majesty many thanks for the pleasing,
yet mournful, task he has allotted me. Your kindness to my family,
independently of my private regard for you, gives you the surest claim
of my best services during this afflicting period. Let me beseech of you
not to despair, but cheerfully anticipate brighter days.

"I will call for you at seven o'clock, and if you approve of it, we
will use my carriage. Ruel is entirely at your disposal and that of your
family."

This note was truly characteristic of its amiable writer, who at court
passed for a cold-hearted, frigid being, whilst, in reality, the warm
feelings of her excellent heart were reserved for her chosen friends.

I have never admired those general lovers who profess to love every one,
nor do I feel quite sure it is a very strong recommendation to say a
person is beloved by all who know her. Read, now, a striking contrast
to the short but sympathizing billet of madame d'Aiguillon, in the
following heartless letter f rom the marechale de Mirepoix, which was
put into my hands as I was ascending the carriage.

"MY LOVELY COUNTESS,--I am all astonishment! Can it be possible that you
are to quit Versailles? You are right in saying you have been the friend
of every one, and those who could speak ill of you are to be pitied
for not having had better opportunities of understanding your real
character. But fear not, the dauphiness is virtue personified, and the
dauphin equally perfect. Every thing promises a peaceful and indulgent
reign, should we have the misfortune to lose his present majesty. Still
there will always be a great void left at Versailles; as far as I am
concerned, I have passed so much of my time with you, that I cannot
imagine what I shall do with my evenings; it will cost me much of my age
to alter habits and customs now so long fixed and settled, but such is
life; nothing certain, nothi