as
Knight of Malta in waging war upon an infidel" (infidele). At last she
tired of leading such a fretful existence, and took the occasion of the
Count's absence to break the bond. She filled her carriage with all of
his valuable gifts to herself--jewelry, laces, and two children--and
sent them to his hotel. The message was received by the Countess, who
gladly accepted the charge of the little ones, but returned the carriage
and its other contents. On Lauraguais's return he was thrown into the
deepest misery by Sophie's resolve; but, although she was touched by his
pleading and reproaches, she remained inflexible. She accepted, however,
a pension of two thousand crowns which his generosity settled on her. We
are told that the sentimental Countess joined with her husband in urging
Sophie, who at first refused to receive Lauraguais's bounty, to yield,
saying that her admiration of the lovely singer made her excuse his
fault in being unfaithful to herself, and that the children should be
always treated as her own. Such a scene as this would be impossible out
of the France of the eighteenth century.

The number of Sophie Arnould's _bon-mots_ is almost legion, and her
good nature could rarely resist the temptation of uttering a brilliant
epigram or a pungent repartee. Some one showed her a snuff-box, on which
were portraits of Sully and the Duke de Choiseul. She said with a wicked
smile, "Debit and credit." A Capuchin monk was reported to have been
eaten by wolves. "Poor beasts! hunger must be a dreadful thing,"
ejaculated she. A beautiful but silly woman complained to her of the
persistency of her lovers. "You have only to open your mouth and
speak, to get rid of their importunities," was the pungent answer. She
effectually silenced a coxcomb, who aimed to annoy her by saying, "Oh!
wit runs in the street nowadays," by the retort, "Too fast for fools to
catch it, however." Of Madeleine Guimard, the fascinating dancer, who
was exceedingly thin, Sophie said one night, after she had seen her
dance a _pas de trois_ in which she represented a nymph being contended
for by two satyrs, "It made her think of two dogs fighting for a bone."*

* This _mot_ the Paris wits have revived at the expense of
Mlle. Sara Bernhardt.

One day Voltaire said to her, "Ah! mademoiselle, I am eighty-four years
old, and I have committed eighty-four follies" (_sottises_). "A mere
trifle," responded Sophie; "I am not yet forty, and I have com