The archbishopric of Paris was given to a brother of the Duc de Noailles-the Bishop of Chalons-sur-Marne—­M. de Noailles thus reaping the fruit of his wise sacrifice to M. de Vendome, before related.  M. de Chalons was of singular goodness and modesty.  He did not wish for this preferment, and seeing from far the prospect of its being given to him, hastened to declare himself against the Jesuits, in the expectation that Pere la Chaise, who was of them, and who was always consulted upon these occasions, might oppose him.  But it happened, perhaps for the first time, that Madame de Maintenon, who felt restrained by the Jesuits, did not consult Pere la Chaise, and the preferment was made without his knowledge, and without that of M. de Chalons.  The affront was a violent one, and the Jesuits never forgave the new Archbishop:  he was, however, so little anxious for the office, that it was only after repeated orders he could be made to accept it.

The Bishop of Langres also died about this time.  He was a true gentleman, much liked, and called “the good Langres.”  There was nothing bad about him, except his manners; he was not made for a bishop—­gambled very much, and staked high.  M. de Vendome and others won largely at billiards of him, two or three times.  He said no word, but, on returning to Langres, did nothing but practise billiards in secret for six months.  When next in Paris, he was again asked to play, and his adversaries, who thought him as unskilful as before, expected an easy victory but, to their astonishment, he gained almost every game, won back much more than he had lost, and then laughed in the faces of his companions.

I paid about this time, my first journey to Marly, and a singular scene happened there.  The King at dinner, setting aside his usual gravity, laughed and joked very much with Madame la Duchesse, eating olives with her in sport, and thereby causing her to drink more than usual—­which he also pretended to do.  Upon rising from the table the King, seeing the Princesse de Conti look extremely serious, said, dryly, that her gravity did not accommodate itself to their drunkenness.  The Princess, piqued, allowed the King to pass without saying anything; and then, turning to Madame de Chatillon, said, in the midst of the noise, whilst everybody was washing his mouth, “that she would rather be grave than be a wine-sack” (alluding to some bouts a little prolonged that her sister had recently had).

The saying was heard by the Duchesse de Chartres, who replied, loud enough to be heard, in her slow and trembling voice, that she preferred to be a “winesack” rather than a “rag-sack” (sac d guenilles) by which she alluded to the Clermont and La Choin adventure I have related before.

This remark was so cruel that it met with no reply; it spread through Marly, and thence to Paris; and Madame la Duchesse, who had the art of writing witty songs, made one upon this theme.  The Princesse de Conti was in despair, for she had not the same weapon at her disposal.  Monsieur tried to reconcile them gave them a dinner at Meudon—­but they returned from it as they went.