“Not only, monsieur le duc, do I authorize you to say so much, but I beg you to declare to mesdames that I am already filled with love and respect for the Jesuits, and that it will not be my fault if they do not return amongst us.”
“Ah, you are a treasure of wisdom,” replied the duke, kissing my hand with fervor; “and I am disgusted at the way you are calumniated.”
“I know no reason for it, for I have never done harm to any person. Assure mesdames that I am sincerely grieved that I am not agreeable to them, and would give half my life to obtain, not their friendship, of which I do not feel myself worthy, but their indifference. Deign also to tell them, that at all times I am at their disposal, and beseech them to consider me as their humble servant.”
“It is impossible to behave more correctly than you do; and I am confident that mesdames will soon discard their unjust prejudices. Thus, it is well understood that our friends will be yours.”
“Yes, yes, provided they are really mine.”
“Certainly. I answer for them as I answer for you.”
And thus, my friend, did I find myself allied to the Jesuitical party.
The duke commenced the attack with madame Louise, the most reasonable of the king’s daughters. This angelic princess, already occupied with the pious resolution which she afterwards put into execution in the following year, contented herself with saying some words on the commotion occasioned by my presence at Versailles, and then, as if her delicacy had feared to touch on such a subject, she asked the duc de la Vauguyon, if the king ordered her to receive the comtesse du Barry.
“Yes, madame,” replied the duke; “it is the express will of his majesty.”
“I submit to his wish: the lady may come when she will.”