ers of Paris. As she was
not rich and could not give costly dinners, she saw her friends daily
from five to nine, in the interval between other engagements. This
society was her chief interest, and she rarely went out. "If she made an
exception to this rule, all Paris was apprised of it in advance," says
Grimm. The most illustrious men of the State, the Church, the Court, and
the Army, as well as celebrated foreigners and men of letters, were
sure to be found there. "Nowhere was conversation more lively, more
brilliant, or better regulated," writes Marmontel.. . "It was not
with fashionable nonsense and vanity that every day during four hours,
without languor or pause, she knew how to make herself interesting to a
circle of sensible people." Caraccioli went from her salon one evening
to sup with Mme. du Deffand. "He was intoxicated with all the fine works
he had heard read there," writes the latter. "There was a eulogy of
one named Fontaine by M. de Condorcet. There were translations of
Theocritus; tales, fables by I know not whom. And then some eulogies of
Helvetius, an extreme admiration of the esprit and the talents of the
age; in fine, enough to make one stop the ears. All these judgments
false and in the worst taste." A hint of the rivalry between the former
friends is given in a letter from Horace Walpole. "There is at Paris,"
he writes, "a Mlle. de Lespinasse, a pretended bel esprit, who was
formerly a humble companion of Mme. du Deffand, and betrayed her and
used her very ill. I beg of you not to let any one carry you thither.
I dwell upon this because she has some enemies so spiteful as to try to
carry off all the English to Mlle. de Lespinasse."

But this "pretended bel esprit" had socially the touch of genius. Her
ardent, impulsive nature lent to her conversation a rare eloquence that
inspired her listeners, though she never drifted into monologue, and
understood the value of discreet silence. "She rendered the marble
sensible, and made matter talk," said Guibert. Versatile and suggestive
herself, she knew how to draw out the best thoughts of others. Her
swift insight caught the weak points of her friends, and her gracious
adaptation had all the fascination of a subtle flattery. Sad as her
experience had been, she had nevertheless been drawn into the world most
congenial to her tastes. "Ah, how I dislike not to love that which is
excellent," she wrote later. "How difficult I have become! But is it
my fault? C