My poor little Comte de Vegin died.  We all mourned for him as he deserved; his pretty face would have made every one love him; his extreme gentleness had nothing of the savage warrior about it, but at any rate, he was the best-looking cardinal in Christendom.  He made such funny speeches that one could not help recollecting them.  He was more of a Mortemart than a Bourbon, but that did not prevent the King from idolising him.

The King thought of conferring the Abbey of Saint Germain des Pres upon his younger brother; to this I was opposed, imagining, perhaps without reason, that such succession would bring bad luck.  So the King presented him to the Abbey of Saint Denis, the revenue of which was equally considerable, and he conferred upon him the title of Comte de Vexin, caring nothing for the remarks I made concerning the similarities of such names and distinctions.

The second Comte de Vegin bid fair to be a man of reflection and of genius.  He obviously disliked his little abbe’s dress, and we always kept saying, “It’s only for the time being, my little fellow.”

When, after his nomination, the monks of Saint Denis came to make their obeisance to him, he asked if they were devils, and continually covered his face so as not to see them.

The King arrived, and with a few flattering words managed to soothe the priests’ outraged dignity, and when they asked the little prince if he would honour them by a visit of inspection to Suger’s room,

[Suger was Abbe of Saint Denis, and a famous minister of Queen Blanche.  Editor’s Note.]

which had just been restored, he replied with a sulky smile, “I’ll come and see you, but with my eyes shut.”

Then the priests mildly remonstrated because the coronation diadem had not been brought back to their store of treasures, but was still missing.

“So, in your treasure-house at Saint Denis you keep all the crowns of all the reigns?” asked the prince.

“Yes, Sire, and where could they be better guarded than with us?  Who has most may have least.”

“With all their rubies, diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds?”

“Yes, Sire; and hence the name treasure.”

The King replied, “If this be the case, I will send you my coronation crown.  At that time my brow was not so big; you will find the crown small, I tell you.”

Then one of the monks, in the most serious manner, said, “It’s not as small as it was; your Majesty has enlarged it a good deal.”

Madame de Maintenon burst out laughing, and I was not slow to follow her example; we saw that the King could hardly maintain his gravity.  He said to the priest, “My father, you turn a pretty compliment in a most praiseworthy manner; you ought to have belonged to the Jesuits, not to the Benedictines.”

We burst out laughing anew, and this convent-deputation, the gloomiest-looking, most funereal one in the world, managed to cause us some diversion, after all.