These two ladies knowing this occurrence, the duc d’Aiguillon was not long kept in ignorance that something had happened. He came in haste to see me, and inquired what it was. But he asked in vain, I would not tell him. My secrecy hurt him, and on his return home he wrote to me. As I have great pleasure in telling you all that recalls this amiable gentleman to my mind, I will transcribe his letter, which will give you an opportunity of judging of the turn of his mind.
I am very unhappy, madame. I had flattered myself with having obtained your confidence, but the obstinate silence which you have kept with me has cruelly informed me of my mistake. Allow the deep interest with which you have inspired me to offer a suggestion. You know nothing of forms, you are unacquainted with our usages: you require a friend who shall direct and counsel you. Why should you not select a man entirely devoted to you, and as equally so to the king, the king whose affections you possess—and who could refuse them to you? I pause. Nothing is more dangerous than to use a pen where we have a heart overflowing like mine. Be more gracious towards me, I ask it of you in charity, and take no pleasure in driving me to twofold desperation. Adieu, madame, etc.
“Signed, the Duc D’A.”
I read and read again this epistle: it delighted me from beginning to end. I found in it a depth of passion which did not displease me: I perfectly comprehended the obscurity of the latter phrase. I needed a sort of mentor superior to comte Jean, and I preferred the duc d’Aiguillon to any other, because he pleased me. This feeling decided me, and I replied to him in these terms:—
“You are wrong, monsieur, to be annoyed, and to think that I am not disposed to grant you my confidence. It seems to me that I cannot place myself in better hands. However, we do not know each other well enough for me to repose in you at once: see me frequently, and then, with the habit of being in your company, I will allow myself to glide quietly into that state of confidence which you desire. Yes, I am indeed a stranger to all that passes around me; my only support is the protection with which the king honors me. That is all-powerful, but I will not employ it unseasonably or improperly. I know that I need the counsels of an honorable, prudent, and well-informed man. I accept, therefore, of yours; I even ask them from you, if your friendship go along with them. Adieu, monsieur. My regards are due to your uncle, the maréchal, the first time you write to him.”
This letter filled the duc d’Aiguillon with joy. Some days afterwards, the prince de Soubise, who also wished to give me his advice, did not attain the same success. It must be owned, that, for a man of the world, he went about it in a very clumsy way. He committed the extreme error of selecting mademoiselle Guimard as mediatrix between himself and me. This lady came to me on the strength of our former acquaintance; she had so little sense as not to perceive the immense distance between us which a few days had caused, and that the opera-dancer kept by the prince de Soubise could have no relation with the favorite of the king of France. I endeavored, in vain, to make her perceive it, without mortifying her too much. She always called me her dear friend, and fairly slaughtered me with saying that her prince would protect me. It was singular for her to speak thus to me; to me from whom her prince solicited protection. She did not confine herself to this, she even insinuated to me that I should be a gainer in some way. I laughed outright at this, and said to the valet de chambre, who was stationed at the door, “Call mademoiselle’s servants.” This annoyed her excessively; all the muscles of her face were contracted with rage; but she restrained her wrath, saluted me with an assumed respect, and went away, after having so worthily acquitted herself of her foolish embassy.
She had quitted me for an hour, when I received a letter from him who had sent her. The prince de Soubise begged me to grant him an interview, in which he could enter into an explanation. I replied that I would receive him, and he came the same day.
“I am much pained, madame,” said he, on entering, “that mademoiselle Guimard has communicated with so little address what I wished to say to you.”
“Prince, I think you would have done better to have been the bearer of your own message. You know my station here, and would not have ridiculed me as she has done.”
M. de Soubise, much puzzled to know what she had said, asked me the question.