death. But he was not rich,
and marriage was not to be thought of. On this point we have his own
testimony. "The one to whom they marry me in the gazettes is indeed a
person respectable in character, and fitted by the sweetness and charm
of her society to render a husband happy," he writes to Voltaire; "but
she is worthy of an establishment better than mine, and there is between
us neither marriage nor love, but mutual esteem, and all the sweetness
of friendship. I live actually in the same house with her, where there
are besides ten other tenants; this is what has given rise to the
rumor." His devotion through so many years, and his profound grief at
her loss, as well as his subsequent words, leave some doubt as to the
tranquillity of his heart, but the sentiments of Mlle. de Lespinasse
seem never to have passed the calm measure of an exalted and sympathetic
friendship. It was remarked that he lost much of his prestige, and
that his society which had been so brilliant, became infinitely more
miscellaneous and infinitely less agreeable after the death of the
friend whose tact and finesse had so well served his ambition.

Not long after leaving Mme. du Deffand she met the Marquis de Mora,
a son of the Spanish ambassador, who became a constant habitue of her
salon. Of distinguished family and large fortune, brilliant, courtly,
popular, and only twenty-four, he captivated at once the fiery heart
of this attractive woman of thirty-five. It seems to have been a mutual
passion, as during one brief absence of ten days he wrote her twenty-two
letters. But his family became alarmed and made his delicate health a
pretext for recalling him to Spain. Her grief at the separation
enlisted the sympathy of d'Alembert. At her request he procured from his
physician a statement that the climate of Madrid would prove fatal to
M. de Mora, whose health had steadily failed since his return home, and
that if his friends wished to save him they must lose no time in sending
him back to Paris. The young man was permitted to leave at once, but he
died en route at Bordeaux.

In the meantime Mlle. de Lespinasse, sad and inconsolable, had met M.
Guibert, a man of great versatility and many accomplishments, whose
genius seems to have borne no adequate fruit. We hear of him later
through the passing enthusiasm of Mme. de Stael, who in her youth, made
a pen-portrait of him, sufficiently flattering to account in some
degree for the singular passion of