e told my adventure to her
daughter-in-law, who, excessively ambitious, saw, without any pain,
the increasing attachment of her husband for me. I must tell you, in a
parenthesis, that I always lived on the best terms with her, and that,
in my disgrace, her friendship did not weaken. I must do her this
justice. All my _faithful friends_ have not been equally faithful
towards me.

These two ladies knowing this occurrence, the duc d'Aiguillon was not
long kept in ignorance that something had happened. He came in haste to
see me, and inquired what it was. But he asked in vain, I would not tell
him. My secrecy hurt him, and on his return home he wrote to me. As
I have great pleasure in telling you all that recalls this amiable
gentleman to my mind, I will transcribe his letter, which will give you
an opportunity of judging of the turn of his mind.

_I am very unhappy, madame. I had flattered myself with having obtained
your confidence, but the obstinate silence which you have kept with
me has cruelly informed me of my mistake. Allow the deep interest with
which you have inspired me to offer a suggestion. You know nothing of
forms, you are unacquainted with our usages: you require a friend who
shall direct and counsel you. Why should you not select a man entirely
devoted to you, and as equally so to the king, the king whose affections
you possess--and who could refuse them to you? I pause. Nothing is more
dangerous than to use a pen where we have a heart overflowing like mine.
Be more gracious towards me, I ask it of you in charity, and take no
pleasure in driving me to twofold desperation. Adieu, madame, etc._

"Signed, the Duc D'A."

I read and read again this epistle: it delighted me from beginning to
end. I found in it a depth of passion which did not displease me: I
perfectly comprehended the obscurity of the latter phrase. I needed
a sort of mentor superior to comte Jean, and I preferred the duc
d'Aiguillon to any other, because he pleased me. This feeling decided
me, and I replied to him in these terms:--

"You are wrong, monsieur, to be annoyed, and to think that I am not
disposed to grant you my confidence. It seems to me that I cannot place
myself in better hands. However, we do not know each other well enough
for me to repose in you at once: see me frequently, and then, with the
habit of being in your company, I will allow myself to glide quietly
into that state of confidence which you desire. Yes, I am indeed