promenades at Montmorency, quite at peace with the world. But the
weeping philosopher, who said such fine things and did such base ones,
turned against his benefactress and friend for some imaginary offense,
and revenged himself by false and malicious attacks upon her character.
The final result was a violent quarrel with the whole circle of
philosophers, who espoused the cause of Mme. d'Epinay. This little
history is interesting, as it throws so much light upon the intimate
relations of some of the greatest men of the century. Behind the
perpetual round of comedies, readings, dinners, music, and conversation,
there is a real comedy of passion, intrigue, jealousy, and hidden misery
that destroys many illusions.

Mme. d'Epinay has been made familiar to us by Grimm, Galiani, Diderot,
Rousseau, and Voltaire. Perhaps, on the whole, Voltaire has given us
the most agreeable impression. She was ill of grief and trouble, and had
gone to Geneva to consult the famous Tronchin when she was thrown into
more or less intimacy with the Sage of Ferney. He invited her to dinner
immediately upon her arrival. "I was much fatigued, besides having
confessed and received communion the evening before. I did not find it
fitting to dine with Voltaire two days afterward," writes this curiously
sensitive friend of the free-thinkers. He addresses her as ma belle
philosophe, speaks of her as "an eagle in a cage of gauze," and praises
in verse her philosophy, her esprit, her heart, and her "two great black
eyes." He weeps at her departure, tells her she is "adored at Delices,
adored at Paris, adored present and absent." But "the tears of a poet do
not always signify grief," says Mme. d'Epinay.

There is a second period in her life, when she introduces us again to
the old friends who always sustained her, and to many new ones. The
world that meets in her salon later is much the same as that which dines
with Baron d'Holbach. To measure its attractions one must recall the
brilliancy and eloquence of Diderot; the wit, the taste, the learning,
the courtly accomplishments of Grimm; the gaiety and originality of
d'Holbach, who had "read everything and forgotten nothing interesting;"
the sparkling conversation of the most finished and scholarly diplomats
in Europe, many of whom we have already met at the dinners of Mme.
Geoffrin. They discuss economic questions, politics, religion, art,
literature, with equal freedom and ardor. They are as much divided on