it is a question whether our company
was in a greater fright than the imaginary devils that put us into it,
who, it seems, were a parcel of barefooted reformed Augustine friars,
otherwise called the Black Capuchins, who, seeing two men advancing
towards them with drawn swords, one of them, detached from the
fraternity, cried out, "Gentlemen, we are poor, harmless friars, only
come to bathe in this river for our healths." M. de Turenne and I went
back to the coach ready to die with laughing at this adventure.

Upon the whole we could not help making this reflection, that what we
read in the lives of most people is false. We were both grossly
mistaken, I, for supposing him to be frightened; he, for thinking me calm
and undisturbed. Who, therefore, can write truth better than the man who
has experienced it? The President de Thou is very just in his remark
when he says that "There is no true history extant, nor can be ever
expected unless written by honest men who are not afraid or ashamed to
tell the truth of themselves." I do not pretend to make any merit of my
sincerity in this case, for I feel so great a satisfaction in unfolding
my very heart and soul to you, that the pleasure is even more prevalent
than reason with me in the religious regard I have to the exactness of my
history.

Mademoiselle de Vendome had ever after an inconceivable contempt for the
poor Comte de Brion, who in this ridiculous adventure had disclosed a
weakness never before imagined; and as soon as we were got into the coach
she bantered him, and said, particularly to me:

"I fancy I must be Henri IV.'s granddaughter by the esteem I have for
valour. There's nothing can frighten you, since you were so undaunted on
this extraordinary occasion."

I told her I was afraid, but being not so devout as M. de Brion, my fears
did not turn to litanies.

"You feared not," said she, "and I fancy you do not believe there are
devils, for M. de Turenne, who is very brave, was much surprised, and did
not march on so briskly as you."

I confess the distinction pleased me mightily and made me think of
venturing some compliments. I then said to her, "One may believe there
is a devil and yet not fear him; there are things in the world more
terrible."

"And what are they?" said she.

"They are so strong," said I, "that one dare not so much as name them."

She interpreted my meaning rightly, as she told me since, though she
seemed at that time not to un