One day, at her toilet, Madame said to him, in my presence, “What was the personal appearance of Francis I.?  He was a King I should have liked.”—­“He was, indeed, very captivating,” said St. Germain; and he proceeded to describe his face and person as one does that of a man one has accurately observed.  “It is a pity he was too ardent.  I could have given him some good advice, which would have saved him from all his misfortunes; but he would not have followed it; for it seems as if a fatality attended Princes, forcing them to shut their ears, those of the mind, at least, to the best advice, and especially in the most critical moments.”—­“And the Constable,” said Madame, “what do you say of him?”—­“I cannot say much good or much harm of him,” replied he.  “Was the Court of Francis I. very brilliant?”—­“Very brilliant; but those of his grandsons infinitely surpassed it.  In the time of Mary Stuart and Margaret of Valois it was a land of enchantment—­a temple, sacred to pleasures of every kind; those of the mind were not neglected.  The two Queens were learned, wrote verses, and spoke with captivating grace and eloquence.”  Madame said, laughing, “You seem to have seen all this.”—­“I have an excellent memory,” said he, “and have read the history of France with great care.  I sometimes amuse myself, not by making, but by letting it be believed that I lived in old times.”—­“You do not tell me your age, however, and you give yourself out for very old.  The Comtesse de Gergy, who was Ambassadress to Venice, I think, fifty years ago, says she knew you there exactly what you are now.”—­“It is true, Madame, that I have known Madame de Gergy a long time.”—­“But, according to what she says, you would be more than a hundred”—­“That is not impossible,” said he, laughing; “but it is, I allow, still more possible that Madame de Gergy, for whom I have the greatest respect, may be in her dotage.”—­“You have given her an elixir, the effect of which is surprising.  She declares that for a long time she has felt as if she was only four-and-twenty years of age; why don’t you give some to the King?”—­“Ah!  Madame,” said he, with a sort of terror, “I must be mad to think of giving the King an unknown drug.”  I went into my room to write down this conversation.  Some days afterwards, the King, Madame de Pompadour, some Lords of the Court, and the Comte de St. Germain, were talking about his secret for causing the spots in diamonds to disappear.  The King ordered a diamond of middling size, which had a spot, to be brought.  It was weighed; and the King said to the Count, “It is valued at two hundred and forty louis; but it would be worth four hundred if it had no spot.  Will you try to put a hundred and sixty louis into my pocket?” He examined it carefully, and said, “It may be done; and I will bring it you again in a month.”  At the time appointed, the Count brought back the diamond without a spot, and gave it to the King.  It was wrapped in a cloth of amianthus, which he took