Babet Rangoni, though poor, deserved to become s princess, for she had all the airs and manners of one.  She shines under her name of Rangoni amongst the princess and princesses of the almanacs.  Her vain husband is delighted at his wife being thought to belong to the illustrious family of Medini—­an innocent feeling, which does neither good nor harm.  The same publications turn Medini into Medici, which is equally harmless.  This species of lie arises from the idiotic pride of the nobles who think themselves raised above the rest of humanity by their titles which they have often acquired by some act of baseness.  It is of no use interfering with them on this point, since all things are finally appreciated at their true value, and the pride of the nobility is easily discounted when one sees them as they really are.

Prince Gonzaga Solferino, whom I saw at Venice eighteen years ago, lived on a pension allowed him by the empress.  I hope the late emperor did not deprive him of it, as it was well deserved by this genius and his knowledge of literature.

At the play Marcoline did nothing but chatter with Babet Rangoni, who wanted me to bring the fair Venetian to see her, but I had my own reasons for not doing so.

I was thinking how I could send Madame d’Urfe to Lyons, for I had no further use for her at Marseilles, and she was often embarrassing.  For instance, on the third day after her regeneration, she requested me to ask Paralis where she was to die—­that is, to be brought to bed.  I made the oracle reply that she must sacrifice to the water-spirits on the banks of two rivers, at the same hour, and that afterwards the question of her lying-in would be resolved.  The oracle added that I must perform three expiatory sacrifices to Saturn, on account of my too harsh treatment of the false Querilinthos, and that Semiramis need not take part in these ceremonies, though she herself must perform the sacrifices to the water-spirits.

As I was pretending to think of a place where two rivers were sufficiently near to each other to fulfil the requirements of the oracle, Semiramis herself suggested that Lyons was watered by the Rhone and the Saone, and that it would be an excellent place for the ceremony.  As may be imagined, I immediately agreed with her.  On asking Paralis if there were any preparations to be made, he replied that it Would be necessary to pour a bottle of sea-water into each river a fortnight before the sacrifice, and that this ceremony was to be performed by Semiramis in person, at the first diurnal hour of the moon.

“Then,” said the marchioness, “the bottles must be filled here, for the other French ports are farther off.  I will go as soon as ever I can leave my bed, and will wait for you at Lyons; for as you have to perform expiatory sacrifices to Saturn in this place, you cannot come with me.”

I assented, pretending sorrow at not being able to accompany her.  The next morning I brought her two well-sealed bottles of sea-water, telling her that she was to pour them out into the two rivers on the 15th of May (the current month).  We fixed her departure for the 11th, and I promised to rejoin her before the expiration of the fortnight.  I gave her the hours of the moon in writing, and also directions for the journey.