y at our ease," replied the King, who had not even
the courage to be gallant. "I must thank you on behalf of these ladies
for your candour and wit." Ten or twelve of us began to titter at this
speech of hers. The Robust Lady never forgave those who laughed.

Directly she arrived, she singled me out as the object of her ponderous
Palatine sarcasms. She exaggerated my style of dress, my ways and
habits. She thought to make fun of my little spaniels by causing herself
to be followed, even into the King's presence-chamber, by a large
turnspit, which in mockery she called by the name of my favourite dog.

When I had had my hair dressed, ornamented with quantities of little
curls, diamonds, and jewelled pins, she had the impertinence to appear at
Court wearing a huge wig, a grotesque travesty of my coiffure. I was
told of it. I entered the King's apartment without deigning to salute
Madame, or even to look at her.

I had also been told that, in society, she referred to me as "the
Montespan woman." I met her one day in company with a good many other
people, and said to her:

"Madame, you managed to give up your religion in order to marry a French
prince; you might just as well have left behind your gross Palatine
vulgarity also. I have the honour to inform you that, in the exalted
society to which you have been admitted, one can no more say 'the
Montespan woman,' than one can say 'the Orleans woman.' I have never
offended you in the slightest degree, and I fail to see why I should have
been chosen as the favoured object of your vulgar insults."

She blushed, and ventured to inform me that this way of expressing
herself was a turn of speech taken from her own native language, and that
by saying "the," as a matter of course "Marquise" was understood.

"No, madame," I said, without appearing irritated; "in Paris, such an
excuse as that is quite inadmissible, and since you associate with
turnspits, pray ask your cooks, and they will tell you."

Fearing to quarrel with the King, she was obliged to be more careful, but
to change one's disposition is impossible, and she has loathed and
insulted me ever since. Her husband, who himself probably taught her to
do so, one day tried to make apologies for what he ruefully termed her
reprehensible conduct. "There, there, it doesn't matter," I said to him;
"it is easier to offend me than to deceive me. Allow me to quote to you
the speech of Mademoiselle de Montpensier, 'You