The conversation was decidedly light; often, indeed, obscene, in spite of the presence of ladies; but always witty.  The hostility of Scarron to the reigning cardinal was a great recommendation, and when all else flagged, or the cripple had an unusually sharp attack, he had but to start with a line of his ‘Mazarinade,’ and out came a fresh lampoon, a new caricature, or fresh rounds of wit fired off at the Italian, from the well-filled cartridge-boxes of the guests, many of whom kept their mots ready made up for discharge.

But a change came over the spirit of the paralytic’s dream.  In the Rue St. Louis, close to Scarron’s, lived a certain Madame Neuillant, who visited him as a neighbour, and one day excited his curiosity by the romantic history of a mother and daughter, who had long lived in Martinique, who had been ruined by the extravagance and follies of a reprobate husband and father; and were now living in great poverty—­the daughter being supported by Madame de Neuillant herself.  The good-natured cripple was touched by this story, and begged his neighbour to bring the unhappy ladies to one of his parties.  The evening came; the abbe was, as usual, surrounded by a circle of lady wits, dressed in the last fashions, flaunting their fans, and laughing merrily at his sallies.  Madame de Neuillant was announced, and entered, followed by a simply-dressed lady, with the melancholy face of one broken-down by misfortunes, and a pretty girl of fifteen.  The contrast between the new-comers and the fashionable habituees around him at once struck the abbe.  The girl was not only badly, but even shabbily dressed, and the shortness of her gown showed that she had grown out of it, and could not afford a new one.  The grandes dames turned upon her their eye-glasses, and whispered comments behind their fans.  She was very pretty, they said, very interesting, elegant, lady-like, and so on; but, parbleu! how shamefully mal mise! The new-comers were led up to the cripple’s dumb-waiter, and the grandes dames drew back their ample petticoats as they passed.  The young girl was overcome with shame, their whispers reached her; she cast down her pretty eyes, and growing more and more confused, she could bear it no longer, and burst into tears.  The abbe and his guests were touched by her shyness, and endeavoured to restore her confidence.  Scarron himself leant over, and whispered a few kind words in her ear; then breaking out into some happy pleasantry, he gave her time to recover her composure.  Such was the first debut in Parisian society of Francoise d’Aubigne, who was destined, as Madame Scarron, to be afterwards one of its leaders, and, as Madame de Maintenon, to be its ruler.

[Illustration:  SCARRON AND THE WITS—­FIRST APPEARANCE OF LA BELLE INDIENNE.]