ted her face and given a
yellowish tinge to her complexion; her features were clumsy and her brow
low; she was short-sighted, and in old age at any rate was afflicted by
an excessive squint. This homeliness was redeemed by a gentle and
caressing expression, and by a sincerity, a gaiety of heart, and free
sprightliness of manner, that no trouble could restrain. Her figure was
very slight, and there was in all her movements at once awkwardness and
grace. She was natural and simple, and had a fairly good judgment of a
modest kind, in spite of the wild sallies in which her spirits sometimes
found vent. Capable of chagrin, she was never prevented by it from
yielding to any impulse of mirth. "She weeps with the best faith in the
world, and breaks out laughing at the same moment; never was anybody so
happily born," says her much less amiable sister-in-law.[270] Her
husband was indifferent to her. He preserved an attachment to a lady
whom he knew before his marriage, whose society he never ceased to
frequent, and who finally died in his arms in 1793. Madame d'Houdetot
found consolation in the friendship of Saint Lambert. "We both of us,"
said her husband, "both Madame d'Houdetot and I, had a vocation for
fidelity, only there was a mis-arrangement." She occasionally composed
verses of more than ordinary point, but she had good sense enough not to
write them down, nor to set up on the strength of them for poetess and
wit.[271] Her talk in her later years, and she lived down to the year of
Leipsic, preserved the pointed sententiousness of earlier time. One day,
for instance, in the era of the Directory, a conversation was going on
as to the various merits and defects of women; she heard much, and then
with her accustomed suavity of voice contributed this light
summary:--"Without women, the life of man would be without aid at the
beginning, without pleasure in the middle, and without solace at the
end."[272]

We may be sure that it was not her power of saying things of this sort
that kindled Rousseau's flame, but rather the sprightly naturalness,
frankness, and kindly softness of a character which in his opinion
united every virtue except prudence and strength, the two which Rousseau
would be least likely to miss. The bond of union between them was
subtle. She found in Rousseau a sympathetic listener while she told the
story of her passion for Saint Lambert, and a certain contagious force
produced in him a thrill which he never fel