One day, the King came in very much heated.  I withdrew to my post, where I listened.  “What is the matter?” said Madame de Pompadour.  “The long robes and the clergy,” replied he, “are always at drawn daggers, they distract me by their quarrels.  But I detest the long robes the most.  My clergy, on the whole, is attached and faithful to me; the others want to keep me in a state of tutelage.”  “Firmness,” said Madame de Pompadour, “is the only thing that can subdue them.”  “Robert Saint Vincent is an incendiary, whom I wish I could banish, but that would make a terrible tumult.  On the other hand, the Archbishop is an iron-hearted fellow, who tries to pick quarrels.  Happily, there are some in the Parliament upon whom I can rely, and who affect to be very violent, but can be softened upon occasion.  It costs me a few abbeys, and a few secret pensions, to accomplish this.  There is a certain V——­ who serves me very well, while he appears to be furious on the other side.”  “I can tell you some news of him, Sire,” said Madame de Pompadour.  “He wrote to me yesterday, pretending that he is related to me, and begging for an interview.”  “Well,” said the King, “let him come.  See him; and if he behaves well, we shall have a pretext for giving him something.”  M. de Gontaut came in, and seeing that they were talking seriously, said nothing.  The King walked about in an agitated manner, and suddenly exclaimed, “The Regent was very wrong in restoring to them the right of remonstrating; they will end in ruining the State.”  “Ah, Sire,” said M. de Gontaut, “it is too strong to be shaken by a set of petty justices.”  “You don’t know what they do, nor what they think.  They are an assembly of republicans; however, here is enough of the subject.  Things will last as they are as long as I shall.  Talk about this on Sunday, Madame, with M. Berrier.”  Madame d’Amblimont and Madame d’Esparbes came in.  “Ah! here come my kittens,” said Madame de Pompadour; “all that we are about is Greek to them; but their gaiety restores my tranquillity, and enables me to attend again to serious affairs.  You, Sire, have the chase to divert you—­they answer the same purpose to me.”  The King then began to talk about his morning’s sport, and Lansmatte.  It was necessary to let the King go on upon these subjects, and even, sometimes, to hear the same story three or four times over, if new persons came into the room.  Madame de Pompadour never betrayed the least ennui.  She even sometimes persuaded him to begin his story anew.

I one day said to her, “It appears to me, Madame, that you are fonder than ever of the Comtesse d’Amblimont.”  “I have reason to be so,” said she.  “She is unique, I think, for her fidelity to her friends, and for her honour.  Listen, but tell nobody—­four days ago, the King, passing her to go to supper, approached her, under the pretence of tickling her, and tried to slip a note into her hand.  D’Amblimont, in her madcap way, put her hands behind her back, and the King was obliged