My son is too much prejudiced in favour of his nation; and although he sees daily that his countrymen are false and treacherous, he believes there is no nation comparable to them. He is not very lavish of his praise; and when he does approve of anything his sincerity gives it an additional value.
As he is now in his forty-second year the people of Paris do not forgive him for running about at balls, like a young fool, for the amusement of women, when he has the cares of the kingdom upon his shoulders. When the late King ascended the throne he had reason to take his diversion; it is not so now. Night and day it is necessary to labour in order to repair the mischief which the late King, or rather his Ministers, did to the country.
When my son gently reproached that old Maintenon for having maligned him, and asked her to put her hand upon her heart, and say whether her calumnies were true, she replied, "I said it because I believed it."
My son replied, "You could not believe it, because you knew the contrary."
She said arrogantly, and yet my son kept his temper, "Is not the Dauphine dead?"
"Is it my fault," he rejoined, "that she is dead? Was she immortal?"
"Well," she replied, "I was so much distressed at the loss that I could not help detesting him whom I was told was the cause of it."
"But, Madame," said my son, "you know, from the report which has been made to the King, that I was not the cause, and that the Dauphine was not poisoned."
"I do know it," she replied, "and I will say nothing more about it."