Saint Francois de Sales, who founded the order of the Sisters of Saint Mary, had in his youth been extremely intimate with the Marechal de Villeroi, the father of the present Marshal.  The old gentleman could therefore never bring himself to call his old friend a saint.  When any one spoke in his presence of Saint Francois de Sales, he used to say, “I was delighted when I saw M. de Sales become a saint; he used to delight in talking indecently, and always cheated at play; but in every other respect he was one of the best gentlemen in the world, and perhaps one of the most foolish.”

M. de Cosnac, Archbishop of Aix, was at a very advanced age when he learnt that Saint Francois de Sales had been canonized.  “What!” cried he, “M. de Geneve, my old friend?  I am delighted at his good fortune; he was a gallant man, an amiable man, and an honest man, too, although he would sometimes cheat at piquet, at which we have often played together.”—­“But, sir,” said some one present, “is it possible that a saint could be a sharper at play?”—­“No,” replied the Archbishop, “he said, as a reason for it, that he gave all his winnings to the poor.” [Loisirs d’un homme d’etat, et Dictionnaire Historique, tom. vii.  Paris, 1810.]

While Frederick Charles de Wurtemberg, the administrateur of that duchy, was staying at Paris, the Princesse Marianne de Wurtemberg, Duke Ulric’s daughter, was there also with her mother.  Expecting then to marry her cousin,

[The learned Journal of Gottengin for the year 1789, No. 30, observes there must be some mistake here, because in 1689, when this circumstance is supposed to have occurred, the administrateur had been married seven years, and had children at Stuttgard.]

she had herself painted as Andromeda and her cousin as Perseus as the latter wore no helmet, everybody could of course recognize him.  But when he went away without having married her, she had a casque painted, which concealed the face, and said she would not have another face inserted until she should be married.  She was then about nineteen years old.  Her mother said once at Court, “My daughter has not come with me to-day because she is gone to confess; but, poor child, what can she have to say to her confessor, except that she has dropped some stitches in her work.”  Madame de Fiennes, who was present, whispered, “The placid old fool! as if a stout, healthy girl of nineteen had no other sins to confess than having dropped some stitches.”

A village pastor was examining his parishioners in their catechism.  The first question in the Heidelberg catechism is this:  “What is thy only consolation in life and in death?” A young girl, to whom the pastor put this question, laughed, and would not answer.  The priest insisted.  “Well, then,” said she at length, “if I must tell you, it is the young shoemaker who lives in the Rue Agneaux.”

The late Madame de Nemours had charitably brought up a poor child.  When the child was about nine years old, she said to her benefactress, “Madame, no one can be more grateful for your charity than I am, and I cannot acknowledge it better than by telling everybody I am your daughter; but do not be alarmed, I will not say that I am your lawful child, only your illegitimate daughter.”