Grammont and Matta enlisted themselves at once in the service of two beauties.  Grammont chose for the queen of beauty, who was to ’rain influence’ upon him, Mademoiselle de St. Germain, who was in the very bloom of youth.  She was French, and, probably, an ancestress of that all-accomplished Comte de St. Germain, whose exploits so dazzled successive European courts, and the fullest account of whom, in all its brilliant colours, yet tinged with mystery, is given in the Memoirs of Maria Antoinette, by the Marquise d’Adhemar, her lady of the bed-chamber.

The lovely object of De Grammont’s ‘first love’ was a radiant brunette belle, who took no pains to set off by art the charms of nature.  She had some defects:  her black and sparkling eyes were small; her forehead, by no means ‘as pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow,’ was not fair, neither were her hands; neither had she small feet—­but her form generally was perfect; her elbows had a peculiar elegance in them; and in old times to hold the elbow out well, and yet not to stick it out, was a point of early discipline.  Then her glossy black hair set off a superb neck and shoulders; and, moreover, she was gay, full of mirth, life, complaisance, perfect in all the acts of politeness, and invariable in her gracious and graceful bearing.

Matta admired her; but De Grammont ordered him to attach himself to the Marquise de Senantes, a married beauty of the court; and Matta, in full faith that all Grammont said and did was sure to succeed, obeyed his friend.  The Chevalier had fallen in love with Mademoiselle de St. Germain at first sight, and instantly arrayed himself in her colour, which was green, whilst Matta wore blue, in compliment to the marquise; and they entered the next day upon duty, at La Venerie, where the Duchess of Savoy gave a grand entertainment.  De Grammont, with his native tact and unscrupulous mendacity, played his part to perfection; but his comrade, Matta, committed a hundred solecisms.  The very second time he honoured the marquise with his attentions, he treated her as if she were his humble servant:  when he pressed her hand, it was a pressure that almost made her scream.  When he ought to have ridden by the side of her coach, he set off, on seeing a hare start from her form; then he talked to her of partridges when he should have been laying himself at her feet.  Both these affairs ended as might have been expected.  Mademoiselle de St. Germain was diverted by Grammont, yet he could not touch her heart.  Her aim was to marry; his was merely to attach himself to a reigning beauty.  They parted without regret; and he left the then remote court of Turin for the gayer scenes of Paris and Versailles.  Here he became as celebrated for his alertness in play as for his readiness in repartee; as noted for his intrigues, as he afterwards was for his bravery.

Those were stirring days in France.  Anne of Austria, then in her maturity, was governed by Mazarin, the most artful of ministers, an Italian to the very heart’s core, with a love of amassing wealth engrafted in his supple nature that amounted to a monomania.  The whole aim of his life was gain.  Though gaming was at its height, Mazarin never played for amusement; he played to enrich himself; and when he played, he cheated.