His constant mistrust of everything and everybody was disgusting, above all when he was at the head of affairs.  The fault sprang from his timidity, which made him fear his most certain enemies, and treat them with more distinction than his friends; from his natural easiness, from a false imitation of Henry IV., in whom this quality was by no means the finest; and from the unfortunate opinion which he held, that probity was a sham.  He was, nevertheless, persuaded of my probity; and would often reproach me with it as a fault and prejudice of education which had cramped my mind and obscured my understanding, and he said as much of Madame de Saint-Simon, because he believed her virtuous.

I had given him so many proofs of my attachment that he could not very well suspect me; and yet, this is what happened two or three years after the establishment of the Regency.  I give it as one of the most striking of the touches that paint his portrait.

It was autumn.  M. d’Orleans had dismissed the councils for a fortnight.  I profited by this to go and spend the time at La Ferme.  I had just passed an hour alone with the Duke, and had taken my leave of him and gone home, where in order to be in repose I had closed my door to everybody.  In about an hour at most, I was told that Biron, with a message from M. le Duc d’Orleans, was at the door, with orders to see me, and that he would not go away without.  I allowed Biron to enter, all the more surprised because I had just quitted M. le Duc d’Orleans, and eagerly asked him the news.  Biron was embarrassed, and in his turn asked where was the Marquis de Ruffec (my son).  At this my surprise increased, and I demanded what he meant.  Biron, more and more confused, admitted that M. le Duc d’Orleans wanted information on this point, and had sent him for it.  I replied, that my son was with his regiment at Besancon, lodging with M. de Levi, who commanded in Franche-Comte.

“Oh,” said Biron, “I know that very well; but have you any letter from him?”

“What for?” I asked.

“Because, frankly, since I must tell you all,” said he, “M. le Duc d’Orleans wishes to see his handwriting.”

He added, that soon after I had quitted M. le Duc d’Orleans, whilst he was walking at Montmartre ma garden with his ‘roues’ and his harlots, some letters had been brought to him by a post-office clerk, to whom he had spoken in private; that afterwards he, Biron, had been called by the Duke, who showed him a letter from the Marquis de Ruffec to his master, dated “Madrid,” and charged him, thereupon, with this present commission.

At this recital I felt a mixture of anger and compassion, and I did not constrain myself with Biron.  I had no letters from my son, because I used to burn them, as I did all useless papers.  I charged Biron to say to M. le Duc d’Orleans a part of what I felt; that I had not the slightest acquaintance with anybody in Spain; that I begged him at once to despatch a courier there in order to satisfy himself that my son was at Besancon.