One day, by way of a short cut, the King was passing through the Queen’s closet, when he heard the sound of coughing in one of the cupboards.  Turning back, he flung it open, where, huddled up in great confusion, he found Mexica.

“What!” cried his Majesty; “so you are back again?  When and how did you come?”

In a feeble voice Mexica answered, “Sire, please don’t send me away from the Queen any more, and she will never complain again about Madame de Montespan.”

The King laughed at this speech, and then came and repeated it to me.  I laughed heartily, too, and such a treaty of peace seemed to contain queer compensation clauses:  Madame de Montespan and Mexica were mutually bound over to support each other; the spectacle was vastly droll, I vow.

Besides her little dwarf, the Queen had a fool named Tricominy.  This quaint person was permitted to utter everywhere and to everybody in incoherent fashion the pseudo home-truths that passed through his head.  One day he went up to the grande Mademoiselle de Montpensier, and said to her before everybody, “Since you are so anxious to get married, marry me; then that will be a man-fool and a woman-fool.”  The Princess tried to hit him, and he took refuge behind the Queen’s chair.

Another time, to M. Letellier, Louvois’s brother and Archbishop of Rheims, he said, “Monseigneur, do let me ascend the pulpit in your Cathedral, and I will preach modesty and humanity to you.”  When the little Duc d’Anjou, that pretty, charming child, died of suppressed measles, the Queen was inconsolable, and the King, good father that he is, was weeping for the little fellow, for he promised much.  Says Tricominy, “They’re weeping just as if princes had not got to die like anybody else.  M. d’Anjou was no better made than I am, nor of better stuff.”

Tricominy was dismissed, because it was plain that his madness took a somewhat eccentric turn; that, in fact, he was not fool enough for his place.

The Queen had still a Spanish girl named Philippa, to whom she was much attached, and who deserved such flattering attachment.  Born in the Escurial Palace, Philippa had been found one night in a pretty cradle at the base of one of the pillars.  The palace guards informed King Philip, who adopted the child and brought it up, since it had been foisted upon him as his daughter.  He grew fond of the girl, and on coming to Saint Jean de Luz to marry the Infanta to his nephew the King, he made them a present of Philippa, and begged them both to be very good to her.  In this amiable Spanish girl, the Infanta recognised a sister.  She knew she was an illegitimate daughter of King Philip and one of the palace ladies.

When Molina left the Court, she did everything on earth to induce Philippa to return with her to Spain, but the girl was sincerely attached to the Queen, who, holding her in a long embrace, promised to find her a wealthy husband if she would stay.  However, the Queen only gave her as husband the Chevalier de Huze, her cloak-bearer, so as to keep the girl about her person and to be intimate with her daily.  Philippa played the mandolin and the guitar to perfection; she, also sang and danced with consummate grace.