en her lover. This lamentable
affair was related to me by the Mother-Abbess, when I had some
acquaintance with her at the time of the accouchement I have
spoken of, which I never had before, nor since.

To return to my history: Madame de Pompadour said to me, "Be
constantly with the _accouchee_, to prevent any stranger, or
even the people of the house, from speaking to her. You will
always say that he is a very rich Polish nobleman, who is obliged
to conceal himself on account of his relationship to the Queen,
who is very devout. You will find a wet-nurse in the house, to
whom you will deliver the child. Guimard will manage all the
rest. You will go to church as a witness; everything must be
conducted as if for a substantial citizen. The young lady expects
to lie in in five or six days; you will dine with her, and will
not leave her till she is in a state of health to return to the
Parc-aux-cerfs, which she may do in a fortnight, as I imagine,
without running any risk." I went, that same evening, to the Avenue
de Saint Cloud, where I found the Abbess and Guimard, an attendant
belonging to the castle, but without his blue coat. There were,
besides, a nurse, a wet-nurse, two old men-servants, and a girl,
who was something between a servant and a waiting-woman. The young
lady was extremely pretty, and dressed very elegantly, though
not too remarkably. I supped with her and the Mother-Abbess, who
was called Madame Bertrand. I had presented the aigrette Madame
de Pompadour gave me before supper, which had greatly delighted
the young lady, and she was in high spirits. Madame Bertrand
had been housekeeper to M. Lebel, first _valet de chambre_ to
the King. He called her Dominique, and she was entirely in his
confidence. The young lady chatted with us after supper; she
appeared to be very _naive_. The next day, I talked to her in
private. She said to me, "How is the Count?" (It was the King
whom she called by this title.) "He will be very sorry not to be
with me now; but he was obliged to set off on a long journey."
I assented to what she said. "He is very handsome," said she,
"and loves me with all his heart. He promised me an allowance;
but I love him disinterestedly; and, if he would let me, I would
follow him to Poland." She afterwards talked to me about her
parents, and about M. Lebel, whom she knew by the name of Durand.
"My mother," said she, "kept a large grocer's shop, and my father
was a man of some consequence; he