The little Olivier—­the first assistant in the shop of Madame Camille, my dressmaker—­saw Adrien, inspired him with love, and herself with much, and they had to be married.  I was good-natured enough to be interested in this union, and as I had never any fault to find with the intelligent services and attentions of the little modiste, I gave her two hundred louis, that she might establish herself well and without any waiting.

She had a daughter whom she was anxious to call Athenais.  I thought this request excessive; I granted my name of Francoise only.

The young couple would have succeeded amply with their business, since my confidence and favour were sufficient to give them vogue; but I was not slow in learning that cruel discord had already penetrated to their household, and that Adrien, in spite of his adopted country, had remained at heart Italian.  Jealous without motive, and almost without love, he tormented with his suspicions, his reproaches, and his harshness, an attentive and industrious young wife, who loved him with intense love, and was unable to succeed in persuading him of it.  From her condition, a modiste cannot dispense with being amiable, gracious, engaging.  The little Olivier, as pretty as one can be, easily secured the homage of the cavaliers.  For all thanks she smiled at the gentlemen, as a well brought up woman should do.  Adrien disapproved these manners,—­too French, in his opinion.  One day he dared to say to his wife, and that before witnesses:  “Because you have belonged to Madame de Montespan, do you think you have the same rights that she has?” And with that he administered a blow to her.

This indecency was reported to me.  I did not take long in discovering what it was right to do with Adrien.  I had him sent to Clagny, where I happened to be at the time.

“Monsieur the Venetian drummer,” I said to him, with the hauteur which it was necessary to oppose to his audacity, “Monsieur le Marechal de Vivonne, who is always too good, saved your life without knowing you.  I gave you to the King, imagining that I knew you.  Now I am undeceived, and I know, without the least possibility of doubt, that beneath the appearance of a good heart you hide the ungrateful and insolent rogue.  The King needs persons more discreet, less violent, and more polite.  Madame de Montespan gave you up to the King; Madame de Montespan has taken you back this morning to her service.  You depend for the future on nobody but Madame de Montespan, and it is her alone that you are bound to obey.  Your service in her house has commenced this morning; it will finish this evening, and, before midnight, you will leave her for good and all.  I have known on all occasions how to pardon slight offences; there are some that a person of my rank could not excuse; yours is of that number.  Go; make no answer!  Obey, ingrate!  Disappear, I command you!”

At these words he tried to throw himself at my feet.  “Go, wretched fellow!” I cried to him; and, at my voice, my lackeys ran up and drove him from the room and from the chateau.