“I did not know,” said the King, smiling, “that you were so intimately
acquainted with the Comte du L------ .”--“You ought to embrace him,” said
she, “he is very handsome.”—­“I will begin, then, with the young lady,”
said the King, and embraced them in a cold, constrained manner.   I was
present, having joined Mademoiselle’s governess.   I remarked to Madame,
in the evening, that the King had not appeared very cordial in his
caresses.   “That is his way,” said she; “but do not those children appear
made for each other?   If it was Louis XIV., he would make a Duc du Maine
of the little boy; I do not ask so much; but a place and a dukedom for
his son is very little; and it is because he is his son that I prefer him
to all the little Dukes of the Court.   My grandchildren would blend the
resemblance of their grandfather and grandmother; and this combination,
which I hope to live to see, would, one day, be my greatest delight.”  The
tears came into her eyes as she spoke.   Alas! alas! only six months
elapsed, when her darling daughter, the hope of her advanced years, the
object of her fondest wishes, died suddenly.   Madame de Pompadour was
inconsolable, and I must do M. de Marigny the justice to say that he was
deeply afflicted.   His niece was beautiful as an angel, and destined to
the highest fortunes, and I always thought that he had formed the design
of marrying her.   A dukedom would have given him rank; and that, joined
to his place, and to the wealth which she would have had from her mother,
would have made him a man of great importance.   The difference of age was
not sufficient to be a great obstacle.   People, as usual, said the young
lady was poisoned; for the unexpected death of persons who command a
large portion of public attention always gives birth to these rumours. 
The King shewed great regret, but more for the grief of Madame than on
account of the loss itself, though he had often caressed the child, and
loaded her with presents.   I owe it, also, to justice, to say that M. de
Marigny, the heir of all Madame de Pompadour’s fortune, after the death
of her daughter, evinced the sincerest and deepest regret every time she
was seriously ill.   She, soon after, began to lay plans for his
establishment.   Several young ladies of the highest birth were thought
of; and, perhaps, he would have been made a Duke, but his turn of mind
indisposed him for schemes either of marriage or ambition.   Ten times he
might have been made Prime Minister, yet he never aspired to it.   “That
is a man,” said Quesnay to me, one day, “who is very little known; nobody
talks of his talents or acquirements, nor of his zealous and efficient
patronage of the arts:  no man, since Colbert, has done so much in his
situation:  he is, moreover, an extremely honourable man, but people will
not see in him anything but the brother of the favourite; and, because he
is fat, he is thought dull and heavy.”   This was all perfectly true.  M.
de Marigny had travelled in Italy with very able artists, and had