This winter was fertile in balls at the Court; there were several, fancy-dress and masked, given by M. le Duc de Berry, by Madame la Duchesse de Berry, M. le Duc, and others.  There were some also at Paris, and at Sceaux, where Madame du Maine gave many fetes and played many comedies, everybody going there from Paris and the Court—­M. du Maine doing the Honours.  Madame la Duchesse de Berry was in the family way, and went to no dances out of her own house.  The King permitted her, on account of her condition, to sup with him in a robe de chambre, as under similar circumstances he had permitted the two Dauphines to do.

At the opera, one night this winter, the Abbe Servien, not liking certain praises of the King contained in a Prologue, let slip a bitter joke in ridicule of them.  The pit took it up, repeated it, and applauded it.  Two days afterwards, the Abbe Servien was arrested and taken to Vincennes, forbidden to speak to anybody and allowed no servant to wait upon him.  For form’s sake seals were put upon his papers, but he was not a man likely to have any fit for aught else than to light the fire.  Though more than sixty-five years old, he was strangely debauched.

The Duc de la Rochefoucauld died on Thursday, the 11th of January, at Versailles, seventy-nine years of age, and blind.  I have spoken of him so frequently in the course of these memoirs, that I will do nothing more now than relate a few particulars respecting him, which will serve in some sort to form his portrait.

He had much honour, worth, and probity.  He was noble, good, magnificent, ever willing to serve his friends; a little too much so, for he oftentimes wearied the King with importunities on their behalf.  Without any intellect or discernment he was proud to excess, coarse and rough in his manners—­disagreeable even, and embarrassed with all except his flatterers; like a man who does not know how to receive a visit, enter or leave a room.  He scarcely went anywhere except to pay the indispensable compliments demanded by marriage, death, etc., and even then as little as he could.  He lived in his own house so shut up that no, one went to see him except on these same occasions.  He gave himself up almost entirely to his valets, who mixed themselves in the conversation; and you were obliged to treat them with all sorts of attentions if you wished to become a frequenter of the house.

I shall never forget what happened to us at the death of the Prince of Vaudemont’s son, by which M. de la Rochefoucauld’s family came in for a good inheritance.  We were at Marly.  The King had been stag-hunting.  M. de Chevreuse, whom I found when the King was being unbooted, proposed that we should go and pay our compliments to M. de la Rochefoucauld.  We went.  Upon entering, what was our surprise, nay, our shame, to find M. de la Rochefoucauld playing at chess with one of his servants in livery, seated opposite to him!  Speech failed us.  M. de la Rochefoucauld perceived