In your place, I should not wait to see myself repudiated.  By whatever outward respect such an injunction be accompanied, the bottom of the cup is always the same, and the honey at the edge is but a weak palliative.  Being no ordinary woman by birth, do not terminate like an ordinary actress your splendid and magnificent role on this great stage.  Know how to leave before the audience is weary; while they can say, when they miss you from the scene, “She was still fine in her role.  It is a pity!”

Since a new taste or new caprice of the monarch has led his affections away, know how to endure a fantasy which you have not the power to remove.  Despatch yourself with a good grace; and let the world believe that sober reflections have come to you, and that you return, of your own free will, into the paths of independence, of true glory, and of honour.

Your position of superintendent with the Queen has been from the very first almost a sinecure.  Give up to Madame de Maintenon, or to any one else, a dignity which is of no use to you, for which you will be paid now its full value; which, later, is likely to cause you a sensible disappointment; for that is always sold at a loss which must be sold at a given moment.

Nature, so prodigal to you, Madame la Marquise, has not yet deflowered, nor recalled in the least degree, those graces and attractions which were lavished on you.  Retire with the honours of war.

Annoyance, vexation, irritation, do not make your veins flow with milk and honey; you would lose upon the field of battle all those treasures which it is in your power to save.

Adieu, madame.

This communication, though anonymous, is none the less benevolent.  I desire your peace and your happiness.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Madame de Maintenon at Loggerheads with Madame de Thianges.—­The Mint of the D’Aubigne Family.—­Creme de Negresse, the Elixir of Long Life.—­Ninon’s Secret for Beauty.—­The King Would Remain Young or Become So.—­Good-will of Madame de Maintenon.

This letter was not, in my eyes, a masterpiece, but neither was it from a vulgar hand.  For a moment I suspected Madame de Maintenon.  She was named in it, it is true, as though by the way, but her interest in it was easy to discover, since the writer dared to try to induce me to sell her, to give up to her, my superintendence.  I communicated my suspicions to the Marquise de Thianges.  She said to me:  “We must see her,—­her face expresses her emotions very clearly; she is not good at lying; we shall easily extract her secret, and make her blush for her stratagem.”

Ibrahim, faithful to his old friendship for me, had recently sent me stuffs of Asia and essences of the seraglio, under the pretence of politeness and as a remembrance.  I wrote two lines to the Marquise, engaging her to come and sacrifice half an hour to me to admire with me these curiosities.  Suspecting nothing, she came to my apartments, when she accepted some perfumes, and found all these stuffs divine.  My sister, Madame de Thianges, said to her: