My son is like all the rest of his family; when they had become accustomed to a thing they suffered it to go its own way.  It was for this reason he could not persuade himself to shake off the Abbe Dubois, although he knew him to be a rascal.  This Abbe had the impudence to try to persuade even me that the marriage he had brought about was an excellent one.

“But the honour which is lost in it,” said I, “how will you repair that?”

Old Maintenon had made immense promises to him, as well as to my son; but, thank God, she kept neither the one nor the other.

It is intolerable that my son will go about day and night with that wicked and impertinent Noce I hate that Noce as I hate the devil.  He and Brogue run all risks, because they are thus enabled to sponge upon my son.  It is said that Noce is jealous of Parabere, who has fallen in love with some one else.  This proves that my son is not jealous.  The person with whom she has fallen in love has long been a sort of adventurer:  it is Clermont, a captain in my son’s Swiss Guard; the same who preferred Chouin to the great Princesse de Conti.  It is said that Noce utters whatever comes into his head, and about any persons; this makes my son laugh, and amuses him, for Noce has wit and can do this pleasantly, enough.  His father was under-governor to my son, who has thus been accustomed from his infancy to this wicked rascal, and who is very fond of him.  I do not know for what reason, for he is a person who fears neither God nor man, and has not a single good point about him; he is green, black, and deep yellow; he is ten years older than my son; it is incredible how many, millions this mercenary rogue has drawn from him.  Madame de Berri has told me that Broglie’s jokes consist only in saying openly, the most horrible things.  The Broglii are of Italian extraction, but have been long settled in France.  There were three brothers, the elder of whom died in the army; the second was an Abbe, but he cast aside his gown, and he is the knave of whom I have been speaking.  The third is still serving in the army, and, according to common report, is one of the best gentlemen in the world.  My, son does not like him so well as his good-for-nothing brother, because he is too serious, and would not become his buffoon.  My son excuses himself by saying that when he quits business he wants something to make him laugh, and that young Broglie is not old enough for this; that if he had a confidential business, or a warlike expedition to perform, he would prefer him; but that for laughing and dissipation of all sorts, his elder brother is more fit.

My son has three natural children, two boys and a girl, of whom only one has been legitimated; that is his son by Mademoiselle de Seri,