, and a
vein of sentiment that was doubtless deepened by her sad little romance;
the Marquise de Duras, more dignified and discreet; and the beautiful
Comtesse de Brionne, "a Venus who resembled Minerva." These women, with
others who came there, were intellectual complements of the men; some
of them gay and not without serious faults, but adding beauty, rank,
elegance, and the delicate tone of esprit which made this circle so
famous that it was thought worth while to have its sayings and doings
chronicled at Berlin and St. Petersburg. Perhaps its influence was the
more insidious and far reaching because of its polished moderation. The
"let us be agreeable" of Mme. Geoffrin was a potent talisman.

Among the guests at one time was Stanislas Poniatowski, afterwards King
of Poland. Hearing that he was about to be imprisoned by his creditors,
Mme. Geoffrin came forward and paid his debts. "When I make a statue
of friendship, I shall give it your features," he said to her; "this
divinity is the mother of charity." On his elevation to the throne he
wrote to her, "Maman, your son is king. Come and see him." This led to
her famous journey when nearly seventy years of age. It was a series of
triumphs at which no one was more surprised than herself, and they were
all due, she modestly says, "to a few mediocre dinners and some petits
soupers." One can readily pardon her for feeling flattered, when the
emperor alights from his carriage on the public promenade at Vienna and
pays her some pretty compliments, "just as if he had been at one of our
little Wednesday suppers." There is a charm in the simple naivete with
which she tells her friends how cordially Maria Theresa receives her at
Schonbrunn, and she does not forget to add that the empress said she had
the most beautiful complexion in the world. She repeats quite naturally,
and with a slight touch of vanity perhaps, the fine speeches made to
her by the "adorable Prince Galitzin" and Prince Kaunitz, "the first
minister in Europe," both of whom entertained her. But she would have
been more than a woman to have met all this honor with indifference. No
wonder she believes herself to be dreaming. "I am known here much better
than in the Rue St. Honore," she writes, "and in a fashion the most
flattering. My journey has made an incredible sensation for the last
fifteen days." To be sure, she spells badly for a woman who poses as the
friend of litterateurs and savants, and says very littl