Ninon de L’ENCLOS.—­From the most handsome and amiable man in the world there could not come mediocre offspring.  M. du Maine is your idol; the King has given him his noble bearing, with his intelligence; and you have inoculated him with your wit.  Is it true that Madame de Montespan is no longer your friend?  That is a rumour which has credit in the capital; and if the thing is true I regret it, and am sorry for you.

Madame de Maintenon.—­Madame de Montespan, as all Paris knows, obtained my pension for me after the death of the Queen-mother.  This service, comparable with a favour, will always remain in my heart and my memory.  I have thanked her a thousand times for it, and I always shall thank her for it.  At the time when the young Queen of Portugal charged herself with my fate and fortune, the Marquise, who had known me at the Hotel d’Albret, desired to retain me in France, where she destined for me the children of the King.  I did what she desired; I took charge of his numerous children out of respect for my benefactor, and attachment to herself.  To-day, when their first education is completed, and his Majesty has recompensed me with the gift of the Maintenon estate, the Marquise pretends that my role is finished, that I was wrong to let myself be made lady in waiting, and that the recognition due to her imposes an obligation on me to obey her in everything, and withdraw from this neighbourhood.

Ninon de L’ENCLOS.—­Absolutely

Madame de Maintenon.—­Yes, really, I assure you.

Ninon de L’ENCLOS.—­A departure?  An absolute retreat?  Oh, it is too much!  Does she wish you, then, to resign your office?

Madame de MAINTINON.—­I cannot but think so, mademoiselle.

Ninon de L’ENCLOS.—­Speaking personally, and for my private satisfaction, I should be enchanted to see you quit the Court and return to society.  Society is your element.  You know it by heart; you have shone there, and there you would shine again.  On reappearing, you would see yourself instantly surrounded by those delicate and (pardon the expression) sensuous minds who applauded with such delight your agreeable stories, your brilliant and solid conversation.  Those pleasant, idle hours were lost to us when you left us, and I shall always remember them.  At the Court, where etiquette selects our words, as it rules our attitudes, you cannot be yourself; I must confess that frankly.  You do not paint your lovely face, and I am obliged to you for that, madame; but it is impossible for you to refrain from somewhat colouring your discourse, not with the King, perhaps, whose always calm gaze transparently reveals the man of honour, but with those eminences, those grandeurs, those royal and serene highnesses, whose artificial and factitious perfumes already filled your chapel before the incense of the sacrifice had wreathed its clouds round the high altar.