athered, my dear fellow, much precious information about the old
age of Mademoiselle Laguerre; for, to tell you the truth, the after life
of such women as Florine, Mariette, Suzanne de Val Noble, and Tullia has
made me, every now and then, extremely inquisitive, as though I were a
child inquiring what had become of the old moons.

In 1790 Mademoiselle Laguerre, alarmed at the turn of public affairs,
came to settle at Les Aigues, bought and given to her by Bouret, who
passed several summers with her at the chateau. Terrified at the fate
of Madame du Barry, she buried her diamonds. At that time she was only
fifty-three years of age, and according to her lady's-maid, afterwards
married to a gendarme named Soudry, "Madame was more beautiful than
ever." My dear Nathan, Nature has no doubt her private reasons for
treating women of this sort like spoiled children; excesses, instead
of killing them, fatten them, preserve them, renew their youth. Under
a lymphatic appearance they have nerves which maintain their marvellous
physique; they actually preserve their beauty for reasons which would
make a virtuous woman haggard. No, upon my word, Nature is not moral!

Mademoiselle Laguerre lived an irreproachable life at Les Aigues, one
might even call it a saintly one, after her famous adventure,--you
remember it? One evening in a paroxysm of despairing love, she fled from
the opera-house in her stage dress, rushed into the country, and passed
the night weeping by the wayside. (Ah! how they have calumniated the
love of Louis XV.'s time!) She was so unused to see the sunrise, that
she hailed it with one of her finest songs. Her attitude, quite as much
as her tinsel, drew the peasants about her; amazed at her gestures,
her voice, her beauty, they took her for an angel, and dropped on their
knees around her. If Voltaire had not existed we might have thought it
a new miracle. I don't know if God gave her much credit for her tardy
virtue, for love after all must be a sickening thing to a woman as weary
of it as a wanton of the old Opera. Mademoiselle Laguerre was born in
1740, and her hey-day was in 1760, when Monsieur (I forget his name) was
called the "ministre de la guerre," on account of his liaison with her.
She abandoned that name, which was quite unknown down here, and called
herself Madame des Aigues, as if to merge her identity in the estate,
which she delighted to improve with a taste that was profoundly
artistic. When Bonaparte