a little assistance, pretends to be a relation of the Marquise de Pompadour.  Here is her petition.”  I read it, and said that the woman had better write directly to Madame, and that I was sure, if what she asserted was true, her application would be successful.  Madame du Chiron followed my advice.  The woman wrote she was in the lowest depth of poverty, and I learnt that Madame sent her six louis until she could gain more accurate information as to the truth of her story.  Colin, who was commissioned to take the money, made inquiries of M. de Malvoisin, a relation of Madame, and a very respectable officer.  The fact was found to be as she had stated it.  Madame then sent her a hundred louis, and promised her a pension of sixty louis a year.  All this was done with great expedition, and Madame had a visit of thanks from her poor relation, as soon as she had procured decent clothes to come in.  That day the King happened to come in at an unusual hour, and saw this person going out.  He asked who it was.  “It is a very poor relation of mine,” replied Madame.  “She came, then, to beg for some assistance?” “No,” said she.  “What did she come for, then?” “To thank me for a little service I have rendered her,” said she, blushing from the fear of seeming to boast of her liberality.  “Well,” said the King; “since she is your relation, allow me to have the pleasure of serving her too.  I will give her fifty louis a year out of my private purse, and, you know, she may send for the first year’s allowance to-morrow.”  Madame burst into tears, and kissed the King’s hand several times.  She told me this three days afterwards, when I was nursing her in a slight attack of fever.  I could not refrain from weeping myself at this instance of the King’s kindness.  The next day, I called on Madame du Chiron to tell her of the good fortune of her protegee; I forgot to say that, after Madame had related the affair to me, I told her what part I had taken in it.  She approved my conduct, and allowed me to inform my friend of the King’s goodness.  This action, which showed no less delicate politeness towards her than sensibility to the sufferings of the poor woman, made a deeper impression on Madame’s heart than a pension of two thousand a year given to herself.

Madame had terrible palpitations of the heart.  Her heart actually seemed to leap.  She consulted several physicians.  I recollect that one of them made her walk up and down the room, lift a weight, and move quickly.  On her expressing some surprise, he said, “I do this to ascertain whether the organ is diseased; in that case motion quickens the pulsation; if that effect is not produced, the complaint proceeds from the nerves.”  I repeated this to my oracle, Quesnay.  He knew very little of this physician, but he said his treatment was that of a clever man.  His name was Renard; he was scarcely known beyond the Marais.  Madame often appeared suffocated, and sighed continually.  One day, under pretence of presenting a petition to