face, and yet did not produce any shocking appearance.  All this being accomplished, nothing remained but to give notice to the fortuneteller; we waited for a little excursion to Paris, which Madame was to take, to look at her house.  I then got a person, with whom I had no connection, to speak to a waiting-woman of the Duchesse de Ruffec, to obtain an interview with the woman.  She made some difficulty, on account of the Police; but we promised secrecy, and appointed the place of meeting.  Nothing could be more contrary to Madame de Pompadour’s character, which was one of extreme timidity, than to engage in such an adventure.  But her curiosity was raised to the highest pitch, and, moreover, everything was so well arranged that there was not the slightest risk.  Madame had let M. de Gontaut, and her valet de chambre, into the secret.  The latter had hired two rooms for his niece, who was then ill, at Versailles, near Madame’s hotel.  We went out in the evening, followed by the valet de chambre, who was a safe man, and by the Duke, all on foot.  We had not, at farthest, above two hundred steps to go.  We were shown into two small rooms, in which were fires.  The two men remained in one, and we in the other.  Madame had thrown herself on a sofa.  She had on a night-cap, which concealed half her face, in an unstudied manner.  I was near the fire, leaning on a table, on which were two candles.  There were lying on the chairs, near us, some clothes, of small value.  The fortune-teller rang—­a little servant-girl let her in, and then went to wait in the room where the gentlemen were.  Coffee-cups, and a coffee-pot, were set; and I had taken care to place, upon a little buffet, some cakes, and a bottle of Malaga wine, having heard that Madame Bontemps assisted her inspiration with that liquor.  Her face, indeed, sufficiently proclaimed it.  “Is that lady ill?” said she, seeing Madame de Pompadour stretched languidly on the sofa.  I told her that she would soon be better, but that she had kept her room for a week.  She heated the coffee, and prepared the two cups, which she carefully wiped, observing that nothing impure must enter into this operation.  I affected to be very anxious for a glass of wine, in order to give our oracle a pretext for assuaging her thirst, which she did, without much entreaty.  When she had drunk two or three small glasses (for I had taken care not to have large ones), she poured the coffee into one of the two large cups.  “This is yours,” said she; “and this is your friends’s; let them stand a little.”  She then observed our hands and our faces; after which she drew a looking-glass from her pocket, into which she told us to look, while she looked at the reflections of our faces.  She next took a glass of wine, and immediately threw herself into a fit of enthusiasm, while she inspected my cup, and considered all the lines formed by the dregs of the coffee she had poured out.  She began by saying, “That is well—­prosperity—­but