He was the son of M. de Saint-Aignan, who with honour and valour was truly romantic in gallantry, in belles-lettres, and in arms.  He was Captain of the Guards of Gaston, and at the end of 1649 bought of the Duc de Liancourt the post of first-gentleman of the King’s chamber.  He commanded afterwards in Berry against the party of M. le Prince, and served elsewhere subsequently.  In 1661 he was made Chevalier of the Order, and in 1661 Duke and Peer.  His first wife he lost in 1679.  At the end of a year he married one of her chambermaids, who had been first of all engaged to take care of her dogs.  She was so modest, and he so shamefaced, that in despite of repeated pressing on the part of the King, she could not be induced to take her tabouret.  She lived in much retirement, and had so many virtues that she made herself respected all her life, which was long.  M. de Beauvilliers was one of the children of the first marriage.  I know not what care M. and Madame de Saint-Aignan took of the others, but they left him, until he was six or seven years of age, to the mercy of their lodge-keeper.  Then he was confided to the care of a canon of Notre Dame de Clery.  The household of the canon consisted of one maid-servant, with whom the little boy slept; and they continued to sleep together until he was fourteen or fifteen years old, without either of them thinking of evil, or the canon remarking that the lad was growing into a man.  The death of his eldest brother called M. de Beauvilliers home.  He entered the army, served with distinction at the head of is regiment of cavalry, and was brigadier.

He was tall, thin, had a long and ruddy face, a large aquiline nose, a sunken mouth, expressive, piercing eyes, an agreeable smile, a very gentle manner but ordinarily retiring, serious, and concentrated.  B disposition he was hasty, hot, passionate, fond of pleasure.  Ever since God had touched him, which happened early in his life, he had become gentle, mildest, humble, kind, enlightened, charitable, and always full of real piety and goodness.  In private, where he was free, he was gay, joked, and bantered pleasantly, and laughed with good heart.  He liked to be made fun of there was only the story of his sleeping with the canon’s servant that wounded his modesty, and I have seen him embarrassed when Madame de Beauvilliers has related it,—­smiling, however, but praying her sometimes not to tell it.  His piety, which, as I have said, commenced early in life, separated him from companions of his own age.  At the army one day, during a promenade of the King, he walked alone, a little in front.  Some one remarked it, and observed, sneeringly, that “he was meditating.”  The King, who heard this, turned towards the speaker, and, looking at him, said, “Yes, ’tis M. de Beauvilliers, one of the best men of the Court, and of my realm.”  This sudden and short apology caused silence, and food for reflection, so that the fault-finders remained in respect before his merit.