My second sister, Mademoiselle de Mortemart, was so unfortunate as to fall in love with a young Knight of Malta, doomed from his birth and by his family to celibacy.  Having set out upon his caravans,—­[Sea-fights against the Turks and the pirates of the Mediterranean.]—­he was killed in combat by the Algerians.

Such was Mademoiselle de Mortemart’s grief that life became unbearable to her.  Beautiful, witty, and accomplished, she quitted the world where she was beloved, and, at the, age of seventeen, took the veil at Fontevrault.

So severely had she blamed the conduct of Mademoiselle de la Valliere, while often vehemently denouncing that which she termed the disorder at Court, that, since the birth of the Duc du Maine, I had not gone to the convent to see her.  We were like unto persons both most anxious to break off an intimacy and yet who had not done so.

The Duc de Lorraine was known to her.  He wrote to her, begging her to make it up with me, so as to further his own ends.  To gratify him, and mainly because of her attachment to Prince Charles, my sister actually wrote to me, asking for my intervention and what she termed my support.

Nuns always profess to be, and think that they are, cut off from the world.  But the fact is, they care far more for mundane grandeur than we do.  Madame de Thianges and her sister would have given their very heart’s blood to see my niece the bride of a royal prince.

One day the King said to me, “The Marquise de Thianges complains that I have as yet done nothing for your family; there is a wealthy abbey that has just become vacant; I am going to give it to your sister, the nun; since last night she is the Abbess of Fontevrault.”

I thanked the King, as it behoved me to do, and he added, “Your brother shall be made a duke at once.  I am going to appoint him general of Royal Galleys, and after one or two campaigns he will have a marshal’s baton.”

“And what about me, Sire?” said I.  “What, may it please your Majesty, shall I get from the distribution of all these favours and emoluments?” I laughingly asked the question.

“You, madame?” he replied.  “To you I made a present of my heart, which is not altogether worthless; yet, as it is possible that, when this heart shall have ceased to beat, you may have to maintain your rank, I will give you the charming retreat of Petit-Bourg, near Fontainebleau.”

Saying this, his face wore a sad look, and I was sorry that I asked him for anything.  He is fond of giving, and of giving generously, but of his own accord, without the least prompting.  Had I refrained from committing this indiscretion, he might, possibly, have made me a duchess there and then, renaming Petit-Bourg Royal-Bourg.

The new abbess of Fontevrault, caring less now for claustral seclusion, equipped her new residence in very sumptuous style.  In a splendid carriage she came to thank the King and kiss hands.  With much tact and dignity she encountered the scrutiny of the royal family and of the Court.  Her manners showed her to have been a person brought up in the great world, and possessed of all the tact and delicacy which her position as well as mine required.