her rare reputation for beauty and esprit, as well as learning,
she took her place early in this brilliant and distinguished society in
which she was to play so graceful and honored a part. She was sought and
admired not only by the men of letters who were so cordially welcomed
by the favorite niece of Richelieu, but by the gay world that habitually
assembled at the Petit Luxembourg. It was here that she perfected the
tone of natural elegance which always distinguished her and made her
conspicuous even at court, where she passed so many years of her life.

She was not far from twenty-one when she became the wife of the Comte de
La Fayette, of whom little is known save that he died early, leaving her
with two sons. He is the most shadowy of figures, and whether he made
her life happy or sad does not definitely appear, though there is a
vague impression that he left something to be desired in the way of
devotion. A certain interest attaches to him as the brother of the
beautiful Louise de La Fayette, maid of honor to Anne of Austria, who
fled from the compromising infatuation of Louis XIII, to hide her youth
and fascinations in the cloister, under the black robe and the cherished
name of Mere Angelique de Chaillot.

The young, brilliant, and gifted comtesse goes to the convent to visit
her gently austere sister-in-law, and meets there the Princess Henrietta
of England, than a child of eleven years. The attraction is mutual
and ripens into a deep and lasting friendship. When this graceful and
light-hearted girl becomes the Duchesse d'Orleans, and sister-in-law
of the king, she attaches her friend to her court and makes her the
confidante of her romantic experiences. "Do you not think," she said
to her one day, "that if all which has happened to me, and the things
relating to it, were told it would make a fine story? You write well;
write; I will furnish you good materials." The interesting memorial,
to which madame herself contributes many pages, is interrupted by
the mysterious death of the gay and charming woman who had found so
sympathetic and so faithful a chronicler. She breathed her last sigh in
the arms of this friend. "It is one of those sorrows for which one never
consoles one's self, and which leave a shadow over the rest of one's
life," wrote Mme. de La Fayette. She had no heart to finish the history,
and added only the few simple lines that record the touching incidents
which left upon her so melancholy and las