of the Emperor, soon acquired much influence over the King her husband.  So far all was well, but the most important thing was wanting—­she had no children.  The council had hoped some from this second marriage, because it had lured itself into the belief that previously the fault rested with the late Queen.  After some years, this same council, being no longer able to disguise the fact that the King could have no children, sent the Prince of Darmstadt into Spain, for the purpose of establishing himself there, and of ingratiating himself into the favour of the Queen to such an extent that this defect might be remedied.  The Prince of Darmstadt was well received; he obtained command in the army; defended, as I have said, Barcelona; and obtained a good footing at the Court.  But the object for which he had been more especially sent he could not accomplish.  I will not say whether the Queen was inaccessible from her own fault or that of others.  Nor will I say, although I have been assured, but I believe by persons without good knowledge of the subject, that naturally it was impossible for her to become a mother.  I will simply say that the Prince of Darmstadt was on the best terms with the King and the Queen, and had opportunities very rare in that country, without any fruit which could put the succession of the monarchy in safety against the different pretensions afloat, or reassure on that head the politic council of Vienna.

But to return to France.

Madame de Maintenon, despite the height to which her insignificance had risen, had yet her troubles.  Her brother, who was called the Comte d’Aubigne, was of but little worth, yet always spoke as though no man were his equal, complained that he had not been made Marechal of France —­sometimes said that he had taken his baton in money, and constantly bullied Madame de Maintenon because she did not make him a duke and a peer.  He spent his time running after girls in the Tuileries, always had several on his hands, and lived and spent his money with their families and friends of the same kidney.  He was just fit for a strait-waistcoat, but comical, full of wit and unexpected repartees.  A good, humorous fellow, and honest-polite, and not too impertinent on account of his sister’s fortune.  Yet it was a pleasure to hear him talk of the time of Scarron and the Hotel d’Albret, and of the gallantries and adventures of his sister, which he contrasted with her present position and devotion.  He would talk in this manner, not before one or two, but in a compromising manner, quite openly in the Tuileries gardens, or in the galleries of Versailles, before everybody, and would often drolly speak of the King as “the brother-in-law.”  I have frequently heard him talk in this manner; above all, when he came (more often than was desired) to dine with my father and mother, who were much embarrassed with him; at which I used to laugh in my sleeve.