come, we were conducted to the chapel, and, as it was my curiosity that had led us thither, I was placed in the Maintenon’s own tribune; my company in the adjoining gallery.  The pensioners, two and two, each band headed by a man, march orderly to their seats, and sing the whole service, which I confess was not a little tedious.  The young ladies, to the number of two hundred and fifty, are dressed in black, with short aprons of the same, the latter and their stays bound with blue, yellow, green, or red, to distinguish the classes; the captains and lieutenants have knots of a different colour for distinction.  Their hair is curled and powdered, their coiffure a sort of French round-eared caps, with white tippets, a sort of ruff and large tucker:  in short, a very pretty dress.  The nuns are entirely in black, with crape veils and long trains, deep white handkerchiefs, and forehead cloths, and a very long train.  The chapel is plain but very pretty, and in the middle of the choir under a flat marble lies the foundress.  Madame de Cambis, one of the nuns, who are about forty, is beautiful as a Madonna.[1] The abbess has no distinction but a larger and richer gold cross:  her apartment consists of two very small rooms.  Of Madame de Maintenon we did not see fewer than twenty pictures.  The young one looking over her shoulder has a round face, without the least resemblance to those of her latter age.  That in the royal mantle, of which you know I have a copy, is the most repeated; but there is another with a longer and leaner face, which has by far the most sensible look.  She is in black, with a high point head and band, a long train, and is sitting in a chair of purple velvet.  Before her knees stands her niece Madame de Noailles, a child; at a distance a view of Versailles or St. Cyr,[2] I could not distinguish which.  We were shown some rich reliquaires and the corpo santo that was sent to her by the Pope.  We were then carried into the public room of each class.  In the first, the young ladies, who were playing at chess, were ordered to sing to us the choruses of Athaliah; in another, they danced minuets and country dances, while a nun, not quite so able as St. Cecilia, played on a violin.  In the others, they acted before us the proverbs or conversations written by Madame de Maintenon for their instruction; for she was not only their foundress but their saint, and their adoration of her memory has quite eclipsed the Virgin Mary.  We saw their dormitory, and saw them at supper; and at last were carried to their archives, where they produced volumes of her letters, and where one of the nuns gave me a small piece of paper with three sentences in her handwriting.  I forgot to tell you, that this kind dame who took to me extremely, asked me if we had many convents and relics in England.  I was much embarrassed for fear of destroying her good opinion of me, and so said we had but few now.  Oh! we went too to the apothecairie, where they treated