Her letter, duly tied up and sealed, begged me to be bold and use my authority, if necessary, in order to induce the King at last to give his approval and consent.  “What!” she wrote, “my dear sister; you have given birth to eight children, the youngest of which is a marvel, and you have not yet got your reward.  All your children enjoy the rank of prince, and you, their mother, are exempt from such distinction!  What is the King thinking about?  Does it add to his dignity, honour, and glory that you should still be merely a petty marquise?  I ask again, what is the King thinking of?”

In conclusion my sister invited me to pay a visit to her charming abbey.  “We have much to tell you,” said she, and “such brief absence is needful to you, so as to test the King’s affection.  Your sort of temperament suits him, your talk amuses him; in fact, your society is absolutely essential to him; the distance from Versailles to Saumur would seem to him as far off as the uttermost end of his kingdom.  He will send courier upon courier to you; each of his letters will be a sort of entreaty, and you have only just got to express your firm intention and desire to be created a duchess or a princess, and, my dear sister, it will forthwith be done.”

For two days I trained the travelling nun from Fontevrault in her part, and then I suddenly presented her to the King.  She had the honour of explaining to his Majesty that she had left the Abbess sick and ailing, and informed him that my sister was most anxious to see me again, and that she hoped his Majesty would not object to my paying her a short visit.  For a moment the King hesitated; then he asked me if I thought such a change of urgent necessity.  I replied that the news of Madame de Mortemart’s ill-health had greatly affected me, and I promised not to be away more than a week.

The King accordingly instructed the Marquis de Louvois—­[Minister of War, and inspector-General of Posts and Relays.]—­to make all due arrangements for my journey, and two days afterwards, my sister De Thianges, her daughter the Duchesse de Nevers, and myself, set out at night for Poitiers.

The royal relays took us as far as Orleans, after which we had post-horses, but specially chosen and well harnessed.  Couriers in advance of us had given all necessary orders to the officials and governors, so that we were provided with an efficient military escort along the road, and were as safe as if driving through Paris.

At Orleans, the mayor and sheriffs in full dress presented themselves at our carriage window, and were about to deliver an address “to please the King;” but I thought such a proceeding ill-timed, and my niece De Nevers told these magnates that we were travelling incognito.

Crowds collected below our balcony.  Madame de Thianges thought they were going to serenade me, but I distinctly heard sounds of hissing.  My niece De Nevers was greatly upset; she would eat no supper, but began to cry.  “What are you worrying about?” quoth I to this excitable young person.  “Don’t you see that we are stopping the night on the estates of the Princess Palatine,—­[The boorish Bavarian princess, the Duc d’Orleans’s second wife.  Editor’s note.]—­and that it is to her exquisite breeding that we owe compliments of this kind?”