The Duke, who had fixed his eyes upon me all this time, replied like a man penetrated with gratitude by the offer I had made.  He said, that of his eight daughters the eldest was between fourteen and fifteen years old; the second much deformed, and in no way marriageable; the third between twelve and thirteen years of age, and the rest were children:  the eldest wished to enter a convent, and had shown herself firm upon that point.  He seemed inclined to make a difficulty of his want of fortune; but, reminding him of the proposition I had made, I said that it was not for fortune I had come to him, not even for his daughter, whom I had never seen; that it was he and Madame de Beauvilliers who had charmed me, and whom I wished to marry!

“But,” said he, “if my eldest daughter wishes absolutely to enter a convent?”

“Then,” replied I, “I ask the third of you.”  To this he objected, on the ground that if he gave the dowry of the first to the third daughter, and the first afterwards changed her mind and wished to marry, he should be thrown into an embarrassment.  I replied that I would take the third as though the first were to be married, and that if she were not, the difference between what he destined for her and what he destined for the third, should be given to me.  The Duke, raising his eyes to heaven, protested that he had never been combated in this manner, and that he was obliged to gather up all his forces in order to prevent himself yielding to me that very instant.

On the next day, at half-past three, I had another interview with M. de Beauvilliers.  With much tenderness he declined my proposal, resting his refusal upon the inclination his daughter had displayed for the convent, upon his little wealth, if, the marriage of the third being made, she should change her mind—­and upon other reasons.  He spoke to me with much regret and friendship, and I to him in the same manner; and we separated, unable any longer to speak to each other.  Two days after, however, I had another interview with him by his appointment.  I endeavoured to overcome the objections that he made, but all in vain.  He could not give me his third daughter with the first unmarried, and he would not force her, he said, to change her wish of retiring from the world.  His words, pious and elevated, augmented my respect for him, and my desire for the marriage.  In the evening, at the breaking up of the appointment, I could not prevent myself whispering in his ear that I should never live happily with anybody but his daughter, and without waiting for a reply hastened away.  I had the next evening, at eight o’clock, an interview with Madame de Beauvilliers.  I argued with her with such prodigious ardor that she was surprised, and, although she did not give way, she said she would be inconsolable for the loss of me, repeating the same tender and flattering things her husband had said before, and with the same effusion of feeling.