Maintenon—­That circumstance alone is sufficient to show that he did not love you with any delicacy.  He took you as a possession that was restored to him, as a booty that he had recovered; and he had not sentiment enough to care whether he had your heart or not.  The heroes of your age were capable of admiring beauty, and often fought for the possession of it; but they had not refinement enough to be capable of any pure, sentimental attachment or delicate passion.  Was that period the triumph of love and gallantry, when a fine woman and a tripod were placed together for prizes at a wrestling-bout, and the tripod esteemed the most valuable reward of the two?  No; it is our Clelia, our Cassandra and Princess of Cleves, that have polished mankind and taught them how to love.

Helen—­Rather say you have lost sight of nature and passion, between bombast on one hand and conceit on the other.  Shall one of the cold temperament of France teach a Grecian how to love?  Greece, the parent of fair forms and soft desires, the nurse of poetry, whose soft climate and tempered skies disposed to every gentler feeling, and tuned the heart to harmony and love!—­was Greece a land of barbarians?  But recollect, if you can, an incident which showed the power of beauty in stronger colors—­that when the grave old counselors of Priam on my appearance were struck with fond admiration, and could not bring themselves to blame the cause of a war that had almost ruined their country;—­you see I charmed the old as well as seduced the young.

Maintenon—­But I, after I was grown old, charmed the young; I was idolized in a capital where taste, luxury, and magnificence were at the height; I was celebrated by the greatest wits of my time, and my letters have been carefully handed down to posterity.

Helen—­Tell me now sincerely, were you happy in your elevated fortune?

Maintenon—–­ Alas!  Heaven knows I was far otherwise:  a thousand times did I wish for my dear Scarron again.  He was a very ugly fellow, it is true, and had but little money:  but the most easy, entertaining companion in the world:  we danced, laughed, and sung; I spoke without fear or anxiety, and was sure to please.  With Louis all was gloom, constraint, and a painful solicitude to please—­which seldom produces its effect; the king’s temper had been soured in the latter part of life by frequent disappointments; and I was forced continually to endeavor to procure him that cheerfulness which I had not myself.  Louis was accustomed to the most delicate flatteries; and though I had a good share of wit, my faculties were continually on the stretch to entertain him,—­a state of mind little consistent with happiness or ease; I was afraid to advance my friends or punish my enemies.  My pupils at St. Cyr were not more secluded from the world in a cloister than I was in the bosom of the court; a secret disgust and weariness consumed me.  I had no relief but in my work and books of devotion; with these alone I had a gleam of happiness.