u reject it, you are unhappy; if you accept it, you are
undone. The compliments of a king are of themselves sufficient to
pervert your intellect.

_Fontanges_. There you are mistaken twice over. It is not my person
that pleases him so greatly: it is my spirit, my wit, my talents, my
genius, and that very thing which you have mentioned--what was it? my
intellect. He never complimented me the least upon my beauty. Others
have said that I am the most beautiful young creature under heaven; a
blossom of Paradise, a nymph, an angel; worth (let me whisper it in
your ear--do I lean too hard?) a thousand Montespans. But His Majesty
never said more on the occasion than that I was _imparagonable_! (what
is that?) and that he adored me; holding my hand and sitting quite
still, when he might have romped with me and kissed me.

_Bossuet_. I would aspire to the glory of converting you.

_Fontanges_. You may do anything with me but convert me: you must not
do that; I am a Catholic born. M. de Turenne and Mademoiselle de Duras
were heretics: you did right there. The King told the chancellor that
he prepared them, that the business was arranged for you, and that you
had nothing to do but get ready the arguments and responses, which you
did gallantly--did not you? And yet Mademoiselle de Duras was very
awkward for a long while afterwards in crossing herself, and was once
remarked to beat her breast in the litany with the points of two
fingers at a time, when everyone is taught to use only the second,
whether it has a ring upon it or not. I am sorry she did so; for people
might think her insincere in her conversion, and pretend that she kept
a finger for each religion.

_Bossuet_. It would be as uncharitable to doubt the conviction of
Mademoiselle de Duras as that of M. le Marechali.

_Fontanges_. I have heard some fine verses, I can assure you,
monseigneur, in which you are called the conqueror of Turenne. I should
like to have been his conqueror myself, he was so great a man. I
understand that you have lately done a much more difficult thing.

_Bossuet_. To what do you refer, mademoiselle?

_Fontanges_. That you have overcome quietism. Now, in the name of
wonder, how could you manage that?

_Bossuet_. By the grace of God.

_Fontanges_. Yes, indeed; but never until now did God give any preacher
so much of his grace as to subdue this pest.

_Bossuet_. It has appeared among us but lately.

_Fontanges_. Oh, dear me! I have alway