has just sent me two little volumes of Conversations; it is impossible they can be otherwise than good, if she is not whelmed in her grand romance.

LETTER DCLXIX.

TO THE SAME.

The Rocks, Sunday, Sept. 29, 1680.

Ir is not only a republic, but a little world, that you have at present in your house; you have never had such a crowd when I have been with you. Montgobert talks to me of quintille, I am not acquainted with the game; but though we are in a desert compared to you, we have frequently three tables, trictrac, ombre, and reversis. Madame de Marbeuf is with us at present, who, you know, makes one at any thing, out of pure good-nature and complaisance. The princess enlivens this retreat like another Galatea; she is in mourning for her brother-in-law the elector palatine: indeed there is not a person of any consequence in Europe sick, but she is in danger of losing a relation.

We have some folks at Vitré, of whom you know as little as you do of the Hermitage*. I know not how it happens; but I had rather be without them, and have more time for reading and walking. The Hermitage is exactly in the place you mention; but it is so straight, and so well planted, that it would surprise you; however, I think it is high time for me to think of a different subject.

When I reflect that I am to meet you at the end of

* The new walk in the park at the Rocks.

my journey, it appears so great a happiness that I cannot help dreading that some obstacle should interpose. Could any thing have been more vexatious to you than the chevalier's indisposition? I have shared with you in all the uneasiness it must have caused you. He writes me word, however, that he hopes soon to be able to set out, and that both himself and his brother, the bishop of Evreux, owe their cure to the skill of one of the English physicians, whose medicine has indeed worked miracles this year, as the duke de Lesdiguières and many others have experienced. I have written to the chevalier in answer, that I rejoice the more in his recovery, as I deemed the journey necessary for him. I am persuaded that every thing will be properly adjusted, both in regard to this and your other visitors at Grignan, who appear to me like the trick we play with counters, in which we give a king nine guards on every side; take away four guards, still there are nine; add four guards, still there are nine. This is precisely your situation: your house is full, when you have only your own family with you; and when you have three times as many, you find room for them all. God preserve to you, my dear child, this blessing of multiplication, so necessary to immense expenditure and straitened incomes.

I am amazed that you know nothing yet respecting M. de Vendôme, nor a new intendant; both these will come upon you when you least expect them. What I wrote to you concerning the change your brother wishes, was a thought of madame de la Fayette's, when we were considering how to get clear of M. de Louvois, with whom there is no other way of dealing but by proposing an exchange; this, however, must be reserved for the last extremity. Our first business must be to endeavour to get rid of the place; and upon this subject we must consult our friends.

I hope we shall all meet together at Paris, where we may confer freely upon these subjects. All I have to request of you is, that you will prepare yourself to travel without any inconvenience; this is the principal thing to be thought of.

I cannot tell when this ballet is to be danced: truly it will be a finished performance; you may guess that I shall say it is not equal to that in which my daughter performed, when such and such persons assisted, and she entertained us with such a step on entering the theatre; and then, I shall relate all the circumstances of that entertainment; but, in short, the fondness and partiality of a mother out of the question, you yourself, my child, must confess that it will be far inferior to yours, and that there were four persons about the late Madame, whom whole ages will not be able to parallel, either for beauty, youth, or gracefulness in dancing. What shepherdesses! what Amazons! Every one seems to wish to be excused from this; the duchess de Sully pleads family-affairs; madame de Verneuil her christening, and so on; but the dauphiness has shown herself so determined, that there is nothing left but to obey.

Adieu, my dear child! give yourself no uneasiness about my health; nothing can be better; would to Heaven I had reason to think the same of yours! I feel no inconvenience from the dews; I have a number of little arbours in which I sit and read, or chat, secure from the weather; and the mall is as snug and as warna as a gallery.

LETTER DCLXX.

TO THE SAME.

The Rocks, Wednesday, October 2, 1680.

I FELT painfully the mortification and derangement which the illness of the chevalier must have occasioned you; I knew, before you did, that his fever was abating, and that the English physician was curing him, as he has cured all who have applied to him: this has been a fortunate year for his reputation. Heaven be praised, my dear, there is at length an end to your uneasiness, in which I have so sincerely participated; for the abbé de Pontcarré writes me word, that the chevalier and the bishop are perfectly well; accordingly the little plans which seemed to have been disconcerted will now go on as usual. I am sorry to hear of M. de Grignan's journey; I suppose he will be returned by the time you receive my letter; nevertheless I cannot help dwelling a little upon the subject. What a bomb was this that fell unexpectedly, and burst in the very midst of the pleasures and tranquillity of your autumn! It is indeed giving up a great deal to quit your house with such charming company, excellent music, and good cheer. I do not think any monk could suffer more from his Vow of mortification. These people from Messina, who frighten others more than they injure them, injure you, as you observe, more than they frighten you. What an expense! and how ill-timed too! I feel all these inconveniences for you, but at the same time I foresee with pleasure the time approach when they will be at an end; till then, however, I tremble for your health, which, I fear, must suffer from these continual interruptions. You are too lively to be calm, and sleep tranquilly, with subjects of agitation upon your mind, I

have seen you lost in thoughtfulness and anxiety for things of much less moment. I am persuaded that you will not see M. de Vendôme this season, but that will not delay your departure. You may wait for M. de Grignan at Paris, as you have done before. You have more reason than any one I know, not to expose yourself to the bad weather; for ourselves, my child, we only wait till All-Saints is passed, and we shall then take our flight.

I proposed five or six little questions to you in my last letter but one, respecting mademoiselle de Grignan, to which you will favour me with an answer. That pious girl is the object of my admiration. You say she has no director but herself; believe me, she cannot have a better. Leave her then to herself, and agree with me that, if we may judge by appearances, no conscience was ever better regulated. These calls from heaven are an especial mark of divine favour; I admire her dignified virtue.

Madame de la Fayette writes me word that every one is ill with a fever; she says it is like a volley of shot fired into a crowded trench, but with this difference, that the wounds are not mortal.

I have informed the princess de Tarente of what Providence and you had undertaken for her daughter; I believe, that finding both against her will be the means of confirming her in the good disposition she seems of late to have cherished. She says a thousand handsome things of you. She asked me, why you were so much interested in wishing her to love her daughter. I told her, that you could not bear that there should be any child in the world so unhappy as to be deprived of the affection of such a mother. This seemed to have no bad effect.

You doubtless know that madame de Ludre, weary of pouting without any one caring for it, has at length