One day I was returning from the neighbourhood of Etampes with only my son, his tutor, and my physician in the carriage.  On reaching a steep incline, where the brake should be put on, my servants imprudently neglected to do this, and I felt that we were burning the roadway in our descent.  Such recklessness made me uneasy, when suddenly twelve horsemen rode headlong at us, and sought to stop the postilions.  My six horses were new ones and very fresh; they galloped along at breakneck speed.  Our pursuers fired at the coachman, but missed him, and the report of a pistol terrified the horses yet further.  They redoubled their speed.  We gave ourselves up for lost, as an accident of some sort seemed bound to ensue, when suddenly my carriage reached the courtyard of an inn, where we obtained help.

Baulked of their prey, the horsemen turned about and rode away.  They had been noticed the day before, hanging about and asking for Madame de Montespan.

We stayed that night at the inn, and next day, provided with a stout escort, we reached Saint Germain.

The King regretted not having provided against similar attempts.  He rewarded my postilions for their neglect to use the brake (a neglect which, at first, I was going to punish), saying to me, “If they had put the brake on, you would have been captured and whisked off to the Pyrenees.  Your husband is never going to give in!”

“Such a disagreeable surprise,” added he, “shall not occur again.  Henceforth you shall not travel without an adequate escort.  In future, you shall have a guard of honour, like the Queen and myself.”  I had long wished for this privilege, and I warmly thanked his Majesty.

Nevertheless, people chose to put a completely false construction upon so simple an innovation, and my sentiments in the matter were wholly misunderstood.  It was thought that vanity had prompted me to endeavour to put myself on a level with the Queen, and this worthy princess was herself somewhat nettled thereat.  God is my witness that, from mere motives of prudence, this unusual arrangement had to be made, and I entirely agreed to it.  After all, if the Infanta of Spain gave birth to the Dauphin, Athenais de Mortemart is the mother of several princes.

In France, a Catholic realm, for the King to have a second wife is considered superfluous by the timorous and shrivelled-brained.  In Constantinople, Alexandria, and Ispahan, I should have met with only homage, veneration, respect.  Errors of a purely geographical nature are not those which cause me alarm; to have brought into the world so perfect a being as the Duc du Maine will never, as I take it, incur blame at the tribunal of Almighty God.

Mademoiselle de Nantes, his charming sister, has from her cradle been destined to belong to one of the royal branches.  Mademoiselle de Blois will also become the mother of several Bourbon princes; I have good grounds for cherishing such flattering hopes.