elegance of form, in which she might drive away her vapors.  According to her expectations, she frequently met the king in the forest; at first Louis XV. passed her by without bestowing the slightest attention, either on her or her equipage:  afterward he remarked her or her equipage; afterward he remarked her horses,—­“What a pretty phaeton!” said he, on meeting her for the third time.  At length he remarked the lady herself, but it was merely to bestow a passing remark upon her beauty.

Madame d’Etioles, however, was not to be repelled; she continued to pass before the eyes of the royal sportsman:  “sometimes as a goddess from Olympus, sometimes as an earthly queen; at one time she would appear in an azure robe seated in a rose-colored phaeton, at another in a robe of rose color in a phaeton of pale blue."[C]

[Footnote C:  Soulavie, Memoires Historiques de la Cour de France pendant le faveur de Madame de Pompadour.]

In after days, Madame de Pompadour recalling to mind all these follies—­serious though for her—­said to the Prince de Soubise—­“I can imagine myself reading a strange book; my life is an impossible romance, I cannot believe in it.”

At Etioles, private theatricals were the fashion; Madame d’Etioles was the Clairon, the Camargo, and the Dangeville of the troop, which counted among its members some of the most illustrious personages of the day.  Marshal de Richelieu, who was to be found wherever gallantry flourished, was an assiduous and constant spectator at these reunions.  Madame d’Etioles, it is said, endeavored on more than one occasion to entice the king behind the scenes; but Louis, kept constantly in view by Madame de Chateauroux, never once left the royal box.

Two summers thus passed away without Madame d’Etioles obtaining aught from the king save a cold and distant glance, or a passing word or two; and this, for a woman of her ambition, was not sufficient.  She returned to Paris at the close of the summer season, determined to change once more her plan of attack.  A good opening was now before her, for Madame de Chateauroux was dead, the throne of the favorite vacant; not an hour was to be lost, for, with Louis XV. who could tell how soon a successor might be appointed?

The wished-for opportunity at length presented itself.  In the month of December, 1744, a series of magnificent fetes were given at the Hotel de Ville; the women were masqued.  In the course of the evening Madame d’Etioles succeeded in approaching the king,—­

“Sire,” she said, “you must explain to me, if you please, a strange dream.  I dreamt that I was seated on a throne for an entire day; I do not affirm that this throne was the throne of France, yet I dare assert that it was a throne of purple, of gold, and of diamonds:  this dream torments me—­it is at once the joy and torment of my life.  Sire, for mercy’s sake, interpret it for me.”

“The interpretation is very simple,” replied the king; “but, in the first place it is absolutely necessary that that velvet masque should fall.”