thank me for a little service I have rendered her,” said she, blushing from the fear of seeming to boast of her liberality.  “Well,” said the King; “since she is your relation, allow me to have the pleasure of serving her too.  I will give her fifty louis a year out of my private purse, and, you know, she may send for the first year’s allowance to-morrow.”  Madame burst into tears, and kissed the King’s hand several times.  She told me this three days afterwards, when I was nursing her in a slight attack of fever.  I could not refrain from weeping myself at this instance of the King’s kindness.  The next day, I called on Madame du Chiron to tell her of the good fortune of her protege; I forgot to say that, after Madame had related the affair to me, I told her what part I had taken in it.  She approved my conduct, and allowed me to inform my friend of the King’s goodness.  This action, which showed no less delicate politeness towards her than sensibility to the sufferings of the poor woman, made a deeper impression on Madame’s heart than a pension of two thousand a year given to herself.

Madame had terrible palpitations of the heart.  Her heart actually seemed to leap.  She consulted several physicians.  I recollect that one of them made her walk up and down the room, lift a weight, and move quickly.  On her expressing some surprise, he said, “I do this to ascertain whether the organ is diseased; in that case motion quickens the pulsation; if that effect is not produced, the complaint proceeds from the nerves.”  I repeated this to my oracle, Quesnay.  He knew very little of this physician, but he said his treatment was that of a clever man.  His name was Renard; he was scarcely known beyond the Marais.  Madame often appeared suffocated, and sighed continually.  One day, under pretence of presenting a petition to M. de Choiseul, as he was going out, I said, in a low voice, that I wished to see him a few minutes on an affair of importance to my mistress.  He told me to come as soon as I pleased, and that I should be admitted.  I told him that Madame was extremely depressed; that she gave way to distressing thoughts, which she would not communicate; that she, one day, said to me, “The fortune-teller told me I should have time to prepare myself; I believe it, for I shall be worn to death by melancholy.”  M. de Choiseul appeared much affected; he praised my zeal, and said that he had already perceived some indications of what I told him; that he would not mention my name, but would try to draw from her an explanation.  I don’t know what he said to her; but, from that time, she was much more calm.  One day, but long afterwards, Madame said to M. de Gontaut, “I am generally thought to have great influence, but if it were not for M. de Choiseul, I should not be able to obtain a Cross of St. Louis.”