would have made him a man of great importance.  The difference of age was not sufficient to be a great obstacle.  People, as usual, said the young lady was poisoned; for the unexpected death of persons who command a large portion of public attention always gives birth to these rumours.  The King shewed great regret, but more for the grief of Madame than on account of the loss itself, though he had often caressed the child, and loaded her with presents.  I owe it, also, to justice, to say that M. de Marigny, the heir of all Madame de Pompadour’s fortune, after the death of her daughter, evinced the sincerest and deepest regret every time she was seriously ill.  She, soon after, began to lay plans for his establishment.  Several young ladies of the highest birth were thought of; and, perhaps, he would have been made a Duke, but his turn of mind indisposed him for schemes either of marriage or ambition.  Ten times he might have been made Prime Minister, yet he never aspired to it.  “That is a man,” said Quesnay to me, one day, “who is very little known; nobody talks of his talents or acquirements, nor of his zealous and efficient patronage of the arts:  no man, since Colbert, has done so much in his situation:  he is, moreover, an extremely honourable man, but people will not see in him anything but the brother of the favourite; and, because he is fat, he is thought dull and heavy.”  This was all perfectly true.  M. de Marigny had travelled in Italy with very able artists, and had acquired taste, and much more information than any of his predecessors had possessed.  As for the heaviness of his air, it only came upon him when he grew fat; before that, he had a delightful face.  He was then as handsome as his sister.  He paid court to nobody, had no vanity, and confined himself to the society of persons with whom he was at his ease.  He went rather more into company at Court after the King had taken him to ride with him in his carriage, thinking it then his duty to shew himself among the courtiers.

Madame called me, one day, into her closet, where the King was walking up and down in a very serious mood.  “You must,” said she, “pass some days in a house in the Avenue de St. Cloud, whither I shall send you.  You will there find a young lady about to lie in.”  The King said nothing, and I was mute from astonishment.  “You will be mistress of the house, and preside, like one of the fabulous goddesses, at the accouchement.  Your presence is necessary, in order that everything may pass secretly, and according to the King’s wish.  You will be present at the baptism, and name the father and mother.”  The King began to laugh, and said, “The father is a very honest man;” Madame added, “beloved by every one, and adored by those who know him.”  Madame then took from a little cupboard a small box, and drew from it an aigrette of diamonds, at the same time saying to the King, “I have my reasons for it not being handsomer.”  “It is but too much so,” said the King; “how