hrown down a chair, and, in stooping
to pick it up, has almost fallen over the Dutch ambassadress,--that is
Louis Armand, Prince of Conti. Do you know what the Duc d'Orleans said
to him the other day? '_Mon bon ami_,' he said, pointing to the prince's
limbs (did you ever see such limbs out of a menagerie, by the by?) '_mon
bon ami_, it is a fine thing for you that the Psalmist has assured us
"that the Lord delighteth not in any man's legs."' Nay, don't laugh, it
is quite true!"

It was now for Count Hamilton to take up the ball of satire; he was not
a whit more merciful than the kind Madame de Cornuel. "The Prince," said
he, "has so exquisite an awkwardness that, whenever the King hears a
noise, and inquires the cause, the invariable answer is that 'the Prince
of Conti has just tumbled down'! But, tell me, what do you think of
Madame d'Aumont? She is in the English headdress, and looks _triste a la
mort_."

"She is rather pretty, to my taste."

"Yes," cried Madame de Cornuel, interrupting the gentle Antoine (it did
one's heart good to see how strenuously each of them tried to talk more
scandal than the other), "yes, she is thought very pretty; but I think
her very like a _fricandeau_,--white, soft, and insipid. She is always
in tears," added the good-natured Cornuel, "after her prayers, both at
morning and evening. I asked why; and she answered, pretty simpleton,
that she was always forced to pray to be made good, and she feared
Heaven would take her at her word! However, she has many worshippers,
and they call her the evening star."

"They should rather call her the Hyades!" said Hamilton, "if it be true
that she sheds tears every morning and night, and her rising and setting
are thus always attended by rain."

"Bravo, Count Antoine! she shall be so called in future," said Madame de
Cornuel. "But now, Monsieur Devereux, turn your eyes to that hideous old
woman."

"What! the Duchesse d'Orleans?"

"The same. She is in full dress to-night; but in the daytime you
generally see her in a riding habit and a man's wig; she is--"

"Hist!" interrupted Hamilton; "do you not tremble to think what she
would do if she overheard you? she is such a terrible creature at
fighting! You have no conception, Count, what an arm she has. She knows
her ugliness, and laughs at it, as all the rest of the world does. The
King took her hand one day, and said smiling, 'What could Nature have
meant when she gave this hand to a German princ