s, and sometimes so heavy in
conversation," may be found there. Mme. de Sevigne comes almost every
day with her sunny face and her witty story. "The Mist" she calls
Mme. de La Fayette, who is so often ill and sad. She might have called
herself The Sunbeam, though she, too, has her hours when she can only
dine tete-a-tete with her friend, because she is "so gloomy that
she cannot support four people together." Mme. de Coulanges adds her
graceful, vivacious, and sparkling presence. Mme. Scarron, before her
days of grandeur, is frequently of the company, and has lost none of the
charm which made the salon of her poet-husband so attractive during his
later years. "She has an amiable and marvelously just mind," says Mme.
de Sevigne... "It is pleasant to hear her talk. These conversations
often lead us very far, from morality to morality, sometimes Christian,
sometimes political." This circle was not limited however to a few
friends, and included from time to time the learning, the elegance and
the aristocracy of Paris.

But Mme. de La Fayette herself is the magnet that quietly draws together
this fascinating world. In her youth she had much life and vivacity,
perhaps a spice of discreet coquetry, but at this period she was
serious, and her fresh beauty had given place to the assured and
captivating grace of maturity. She had a face that might have been
severe in its strength but for the sensibility expressed in the slight
droop of the head to one side, the tender curve of the full lips, and
the variable light of the dark, thoughtful eyes. In her last years, when
her stately figure had grown attenuated, and her face was pallid
with long suffering, the underlying force of her character was more
distinctly defined in the clear and noble outlines of her features. Her
nature was full of subtle shades. Over her reserved strength, her calm
judgment, her wise penetration played the delicate light of a lively
imagination, the shifting tints of a tender sensibility. Her sympathy
found ready expression in tears, and she could not even bear the
emotion of saying good-by to Mme. de Sevigne when she was going away to
Provence. But her accents were always tempered, and her manners had the
gracious and tranquil ease of a woman superior to circumstances. Her
extreme frankness lent her at times a certain sharpness, and she deals
many light blows at the small vanities and affectations that come under
her notice. "Mon Dieu," said the frivolous