The Comtesse d’Estrades, who owed everything to Madame de Pompadour, was incessantly intriguing against her.  She was clever enough to destroy all proofs of her manoeuvres, but she could not so easily prevent suspicion.  Her intimate connection with M. d’Argenson gave offence to Madame, and, for some time, she was more reserved with her.  She, afterwards, did a thing which justly irritated the King and Madame.  The King, who wrote a great deal, had written to Madame de Pompadour a long letter concerning an assembly of the Chambers of Parliament, and had enclosed a letter of M. Berrien.  Madame was ill, and laid those letters on a little table by her bedside.  M. de Gontaut came in, and gossipped about trifles, as usual.  Madame d’Amblimont also came, and stayed but very little time.  Just as I was going to resume a book which I had been reading to Madame, the Comtesse d’Estrades entered, placed herself near Madame’s bed, and talked to her for some time.  As soon as she was gone, Madame called me, asked what was o’clock, and said, “Order my door to be shut, the King will soon be here.”  I gave the order, and returned; and Madame told me to give her the King’s letter, which was on the table with some other papers.  I gave her the papers, and told her there was nothing else.  She was very uneasy at not finding the letter, and, after enumerating the persons who had been in the room, she said, “It cannot be the little Countess, nor Gontaut, who has taken this letter.  It can only be the Comtesse d’Estrades;—­and that is too bad.”  The King came, and was extremely angry, as Madame told me.  Two days afterwards, he sent Madame d’Estrades into exile.  There was no doubt that she took the letter; the King’s handwriting had probably awakened her curiosity.  This occurrence gave great pain to M. d’Argenson, who was bound to her, as Madame de Pompadour said, by his love of intrigue.  This redoubled his hatred of Madame, and she accused him of favouring the publication of a libel, in which she was represented as a worn-out mistress, reduced to the vile occupation of providing new objects to please her lover’s appetite.  She was characterised as superintendent of the Parc-aux-cerfs, which was said to cost hundreds of thousands of louis a year.  Madame de Pompadour did, indeed, try to conceal some of the King’s weaknesses, but she never knew one of the sultanas of that seraglio.  There were, however, scarcely ever more than two at once, and often only one.  When they married, they received some jewels, and four thousand louis.  The Parc-aux-cerfs was sometimes vacant for five or six months.  I was surprised, some time after, at seeing the Duchesse de Luynes, Lady of Honour to the Queen, come privately to see Madame de Pompadour.  She afterwards came openly.  One evening, after Madame was in bed, she called me, and said, “My dear, you will be delighted; the Queen has given me the place of Lady of the Palace; tomorrow I am to be presented to her: