The person who writes these lines, Madame la Marquise, sees you but rarely, but is none the less attached to you.  The advice which he is going to give you in writing he would have made it a duty to come and give you himself; he has been deterred by the fear either of appearing to you indiscreet, or of finding you too deeply engrossed with occupations, or with visitors, as is so often the case, in your own apartments.

These visitors, this former affluence of greedy and interested hearts, you will soon see revealed and diminishing; probably your eyes, which are so alert, have already remarked this diminution.  The monarch no longer loves you; coolness and inconstancy are maladies of the human heart.  In the midst of the most splendid health, our King has for some time past experienced this malady.

In your place, I should not wait to see myself repudiated.  By whatever outward respect such an injunction be accompanied, the bottom of the cup is always the same, and the honey at the edge is but a weak palliative.  Being no ordinary woman by birth, do not terminate like an ordinary actress your splendid and magnificent role on this great stage.  Know how to leave before the audience is weary; while they can say, when they miss you from the scene, “She was still fine in her role.  It is a pity!”

Since a new taste or new caprice of the monarch has led his affections away, know how to endure a fantasy which you have not the power to remove.  Despatch yourself with a good grace; and let the world believe that sober reflections have come to you, and that you return, of your own free will, into the paths of independence, of true glory, and of honour.

Your position of superintendent with the Queen has been from the very first almost a sinecure.  Give up to Madame de Maintenon, or to any one else, a dignity which is of no use to you, for which you will be paid now its full value; which, later, is likely to cause you a sensible disappointment; for that is always sold at a loss which must be sold at a given moment.

Nature, so prodigal to you, Madame la Marquise, has not yet deflowered, nor recalled in the least degree, those graces and attractions which were lavished on you.  Retire with the honours of war.

Annoyance, vexation, irritation, do not make your veins flow with milk and honey; you would lose upon the field of battle all those treasures which it is in your power to save.

Adieu, madame.

This communication, though anonymous, is none the less benevolent.  I desire your peace and your happiness.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Madame de Maintenon at Loggerheads with Madame de Thianges.—­The Mint of the D’Aubigne Family.—­Creme de Negresse, the Elixir of Long Life.—­Ninon’s Secret for Beauty.—­The King Would Remain Young or Become So.—­Good-will of Madame de Maintenon.