“I wish for no greater than what you procure me.”

We went to bed, continuing our discussions, and when we were in each other’s arms we made an arrangement which suited us very well.

“Lausanne,” said she, “is a little town where you would meet with the warmest hospitality, and during your fortnight’s stay you will have nothing to do but to make visits and to go to suppers.  I am known to all the nobility, and the Duke of Rosebury, who wearied me with his love-making, is still there.  My appearance with you will make everybody talk, and it will be as annoying for you as for me.  My mother lives there, too.  She would say nothing, but in her heart she would be ill-pleased to see me as the housekeeper of a man like you, for common sense would inform everyone that I was your mistress.”

I thought she was right, and that it would be well to respect the rules of society.  We decided that she should go to Lausanne by herself and stay with her mother, that in two or three days I should follow her, and should live by myself, as long as I liked, having full liberty to see her at her mother’s.

“When you leave Lausanne,” said she, “I will rejoin you at Geneva, and then we will travel together where you please and as long as our love lasts.”

In two days she started early in the morning, sure of my constancy, and congratulating herself on her discretion.  I was sad at her leaving me, but my calls to take leave served to rouse me from my grief.  I wished to make M. Haller’s acquaintance before I left Switzerland, and the mayor, M. de Muralt, gave me a letter of introduction to him very handsomely expressed.  M. de Haller was the bailiff of Roche.

When I called to take leave of Madame de la Saone I found her in bed, and I was obliged to remain by her bedside for a quarter of an hour.  She spoke of her disease, and gave the conversation such a turn that she was able with perfect propriety to let me see that the ravages of the disease had not impaired the beauty of her body.  The sight convinced me that Mignard had need of less courage than I thought, and I was within an inch of doing her the same service.  It was easy enough to look only at her body, and it would have been difficult to behold anything more beautiful.

I know well that prudes and hypocrites, if they ever read these Memoirs, will be scandalized at the poor lady, but in shewing her person so readily she avenged herself on the malady which had disfigured her.  Perhaps, too, her goodness of heart and politeness told her what a trial it was to look at her face, and she wished to indemnify the man who disguised his feelings of repugnance by shewing him what gifts nature had given her.  I am sure, ladies, that the most prudish—­nay, the most virtuous, amongst you, if you were unfortunate enough to be so monstrously deformed in the face, would introduce some fashion which would conceal your ugliness, and display those beauties which custom hides from view.  And doubtless Madame de la Saone would have been more chary of her person if she had been able to enchant with her face like you.