M. le Duc d’Orleans was agreeably deceived by the applause that the public gave to an acquisition so beautiful and so unique.  This diamond was called the “Regent.”  It is of the size of a greengage plum, nearly round, of a thickness which corresponds with its volume, perfectly white, free from all spot, speck, or blemish, of admirable water, and weighs more than 500 grains.  I much applauded myself for having induced the Regent to make so illustrious a purchase.

CHAPTER LXXXV

In 1716 the Duchesse de Lesdiguieres died at Paris in her fine hotel.  She was not old, but had been long a widow, and had lost her only son.  She was the last relic of the Gondi who were brought into France by Catherine de’ Medici, and who made so prodigious a fortune.  She left great wealth.  She was a sort of fairy, who, though endowed with much wit, would see scarcely anybody, still less give dinners to the few people she did see.  She never went to Court, and seldom went out of her house.  The door of her house was always thrown back, disclosing a grating, through which could be perceived a true fairy palace, such as is sometimes described in romances.  Inside it was nearly desert, but of consummate magnificence, and all this confirmed the first impression, assisted by the singularity of everything, her followers, her livery, the yellow hangings of her carriage, and the two great Moors who always followed her.  She left much to her servants, and for pious purposes, but nothing to her daughter-in-law, though poor and respectful to her.  Others got magnificent legacies.

Cavoye died about the same time.  I have said enough about him and his wife to have nothing to add.  Cavoye, away from Court, was like a fish out of water; and he could not stand it long.  If romances have rarely produced conduct like that of his wife towards him, they would with still greater difficulty describe the courage with which her lasting love for her husband sustained her in her attendance on his last illness, and the entombment to which she condemned herself afterwards.  She preserved her first mourning all her life, never slept away from the house where he died, or went out, except to go twice a day to Saint-Sulpice to pray in the chapel where he was buried.  She would never see any other persons besides those she had seen during the last moments of her husband, and occupied herself with good works also, consuming herself thus in a few years without a single sign of hesitation.  A vehemence so equal and so maintained is perhaps an example, great, unique, and assuredly very respectable.

Peter I., Czar of Muscovy, has made for himself, and justly, such a great name, in his own country, in all Europe, and in Asia, that I will not undertake to describe so grand, so illustrious a prince—­comparable to the greatest men of antiquity—­who has been the admiration of his age, who will be that of years to come, and whom all Europe has been so much occupied in studying.  The singularity of the journey into France of so extraordinary a prince, has appeared to me to deserve a complete description in an unbroken narrative.  It is for this reason that I place my account of it here a little late, according to the order of time, but with dates that will rectify this fault.