From the time of his becoming so outrageously devout, all amusements were suspended for three weeks (at Easter); and before, they were only discontinued a fortnight.

The King had a peculiarity of disposition which led him easily to behave harshly to persons who were disagreeable to such as he loved.  It was thus that La Valliere was so ill-treated at the instigation of Montespan.

He was much amused with the Comte de Grammont,—­[Philibert, Comte de Grammont, St. Evremond’s hero, and so well known by means of the Memoirs of Count Antoine Hamilton, his brother-in-law.]—­who was very pleasant.  He loaded him with proofs of his kindness, and invited him to join in all the excursions to Marly, a decided mark of great favour.

The King frequently complained that in his youth he had not been allowed to converse with people generally, but it was the fault of his natural temper; for Monsieur, who had been brought up with him, used to talk to everybody.

Louis XIV. used to say, laughingly, to Monsieur that his eternal chattering had put him out of conceit with talking.  “Ah, mon Dieu!” he would say, “must I, to please everybody, say as many silly things as my brother?”

In general, they would not have been taken for brothers.  The King was a large man, and my husband a small one:  the latter had very effeminate inclinations; he loved dress, was very careful of his complexion, and took great interest in feminine employments and in ceremonies.  The King, on the contrary, cared little about dress, loved the chase and shooting, was fond of talking of war, and had all manly tastes and habits.  Monsieur behaved well in battle, but never talked of it; he loved women as companions, and was pleased to be with them.  The King loved to see them somewhat nearer, and not entirely en honneur, as Monsieur did.

[Madame is not a good authority on this point.  The memoirs of the time will show either that she cannot have known or must have wilfully concealed the intrigues of various kinds in which her husband was engaged.]

They nevertheless loved one another much, and it was very interesting to see them together.  They joked each other sensibly and pleasantly, and without ever quarrelling.

I was never more amused than in a journey which I took with the King to Flanders.  The Queen and the Dauphine were then alive.  As soon as we reached a city, each of us retired to our own quarters for a short time, and afterwards we went to the theatre, which was commonly so bad that we were ready to die with laughing.  Among others, I remember that at Dunkirk we saw a company playing Mithridates.  In speaking to Monimia, Mithridates said something which I forget, but which was very absurd.  He turned round immediately to the Dauphine and said, “I very humbly beg pardon, Madame, I assure you it was a slip of the tongue.”  The laugh which followed this apology may be imagined, but it became still greater when the Prince of Conti,