but that he will admit to his presence one
who has such hereditary claims on his notice. Madame de Maintenon, by
the way, has charged me to present you to her whenever you will give me
the opportunity. She knew your admirable mother well, and for her sake
wishes once to see you. You know perhaps, Monsieur, that the extreme
retirement of her life renders this message from Madame de Maintenon an
unusual and rare honour."

I expressed my thanks; the Bishop received them with a paternal rather
than a courtier-like air, and appointed a day for me to attend him to
the palace. We then conversed a short time upon indifferent matters,
which I observed the good Bishop took especial pains to preserve clear
from French politics. He asked me, however, two or three questions about
the state of parties in England,--about finance and the national debt,
about Ormond and Oxford; and appeared to give the most close attention
to my replies. He smiled once or twice, when his relation, Madame de
Balzac, broke out into sarcasms against the Jesuits, which had nothing
to do with the subjects in question.

"Ah, _ma chere cousine_," said he: "you flatter me by showing that you
like me not as the politician, but the private relation,--not as the
Bishop of Frejus, but as Andre de Fleuri."

Madame de Balzac smiled, and answered by a compliment. She was a
politician for the kingdom, it is true, but she was also a politician
for herself. She was far from exclaiming, with Pindar, "Thy business, O
my city, I prefer willingly to my own." Ah, there is a nice distinction
between politics and policy, and Madame de Balzac knew it. The
distinction is this. Politics is the art of being wise for others:
policy is the art of being wise for one's self.

From Madame de Balzac's I went to Bolingbroke. "I have just been offered
the place of Secretary of State by the English king on this side of the
water," said he; "I do not, however, yet like to commit myself so fully.
And, indeed, I am not unwilling to have a little relaxation of pleasure,
after all these dull and dusty travails of state. What say you to
Boulainvilliers to-night? you are asked?"

"Yes! all the wits are to be there,--Anthony Hamilton, and Fontenelle,
young Arouet, Chaulieu, that charming old man. Let us go, and polish
away the wrinkles of our hearts. What cosmetics are to the face wit
is to the temper; and, after all, there is no wisdom like that which
teaches us to forget."

"Come then," sa