She walks like an old woman of eighty.  If she were a person not very anxious to please, I should not be surprised at the negligence of her gait; but she likes to be thought pretty.  She is fond of dress, and yet she does not understand that a good mien and graceful manners are the most becoming dress, and that where these are wanting all the ornaments in the world are good for nothing.  She has a good deal of the Mortemart family in her, and is as much like the Duchess of Sforza, the sister of Montespan, as if she were her daughter; the falsehood of the Mortemarts displays itself in her eyes.  Madame d’Orleans would be the most indolent woman in the world but for Madame de Valois, her daughter, who is worse than she.  To me nothing is more disgusting than a young person so indolent.  She cares little for me, or rather cannot bear me, and, for my part, I care as little for a person so educated.

She is not upon good terms with her mother, because she wanted to marry her to the Prince de Dombes, the Duc du Maine’s eldest son.  The mother says now reproachfully to her daughter that, if she had married her nephew, neither his father’s nor his own misfortunes would have taken place.  She cannot bear to have her daughter in her sight, and has begged me to keep her with me.

My son has agreed to give his daughter to the Prince of Modem, at which I very sincerely rejoice.  On the day before yesterday (28th November, 1719) she came hither with her mother to tell me that the courier had arrived.  Her eyes were swollen and red, and she looked very miserable.  The Duchess of Hanover tells me that the intended husband fell in love with Mademoiselle de Valois at the mere sight of her portrait.  I think her rather pretty than agreeable.  Her hawk nose spoils all, in my opinion.  Her legs are long, her body stout and short, and her gait shows that she has not learnt to dance; in fact, she never would learn.  Still, if the interior was as good as the exterior, all might pass; but she has as much of the father as of the mother in her, and this it is that I dislike.

Our bride-elect is putting, as we say here, as good a face as she can upon a bad bargain; although her language is gay her eyes are swollen, and it is suspected that she has been weeping all night.  The Grand Prior, who is also General of the Galleys, will escort his sister into Italy.  The Grand Duchess of Tuscany says that she will not see Mademoiselle de Valois nor speak to her, knowing very well what Italy is, and believing that Mademoiselle de Valois will not be able to reconcile herself to it.  She is afraid that if her niece should ever return to France they will say, “There is the second edition of the Grand Duchess;” and that for every folly she may commit towards her father-in-law and husband they will add, “Such are the instructions which her aunt, the Grand Duchess, has given her.”  For this reason she said she would not go to see her.