e unfortunate everywhere. Long live the
omnipotent powder of prelinpinpin!" At these last words, we heard a
burst of laughter from the adjoining room, which was only separated by a
door from the one we were in. The door opened, and in came the King,
Madame de Pompadour, and M. de Gontaut. "Long live the powder of
prelinpinpin!" said the King. "Doctor, can you get me any of it?" It
happened that, when the King returned from his walk, he was struck with a
fancy to listen to our conversation. Madame de Pompadour was extremely
kind to the Doctor, and the King went out laughing, and talking with
great admiration of the powder. I went away, and so did the Doctor. I
immediately sat down to commit this conversation to writing. I was
afterwards told that M. Quesnay was very learned in certain matters
relating to finance, and that he was a great 'economiste'. But I do not
know very well what that means. What I do know for certain is, that he
was very clever, very gay and witty, and a very able physician.

The illness of the little Duke of Burgundy, whose intelligence was much
talked of, for a long time occupied the attention of the Court. Great
endeavours were made to find out the cause of his malady, and ill-nature
went so far as to assert that his nurse, who had an excellent situation
at Versailles, had communicated to him a nasty disease. The King shewed
Madame de Pompadour the information he had procured from the province she
came from, as to her conduct. A silly Bishop thought proper to say she
had been very licentious in her youth. The poor nurse was told of this,
and begged that he might be made to explain himself. The Bishop replied,
that she had been at several balls in the town in which she lived, and
that she had gone with her neck uncovered. The poor man actually thought
this the height of licentiousness. The King, who had been at first
uneasy, when he came to this, called out, "What a fool!" After having
long been a source of anxiety to the Court, the Duke died. Nothing
produces a stronger impression upon Princes, than the spectacle of their
equals dying. Everybody is occupied about them while ill--but as soon as
they are dead, nobody mentions them. The King frequently talked about
death--and about funerals, and places of burial. Nobody could be of a
more melancholy temperament. Madame de Pompadour once told me that he
experienced a painful sensation whenever he was forced to laugh, and that
he