The next day, the Abbe wrote word that Madame Bontemps also said to him, “You came into the world almost black,” and that this was the fact.  This colour, which lasted for some time, was attributed to a picture which hung at the foot of his mother’s bed, and which she often looked at.  It represented a Moor bringing to Cleopatra a basket of flowers, containing the asp by whose bite she destroyed herself.  He said that she also told him, “You have a great deal of money about you, but it does not belong to you;” and that he had actually in his pocket two hundred louis for the Duc de La Valliere.  Lastly, he informed us that she said, looking in the cup, “I see one of your friends—­the best—­a distinguished lady, threatened with an accident;” that he confessed that, in spite of all his philosophy, he turned pale; that she remarked this, looked again into the cup, and continued, “Her head will be slightly in danger, but of this no appearance will remain half an hour afterwards.”  It was impossible to doubt the facts.  They appeared so surprising to the King, that he desired some inquiry to be made concerning the fortune-teller.  Madame, however, protected her from the pursuit of the Police.

A man, who was quite as astonishing as this fortune-teller, often visited Madame de Pompadour.  This was the Comte de St. Germain, who wished to have it believed that he had lived several centuries.  One day, at her toilet, Madame said to him, in my presence, “What was the personal appearance of Francis I.?  He was a King I should have liked.”  “He was, indeed, very captivating,” said St. Germain; and he proceeded to describe his face and person as one does that of a man one has accurately observed.  “It is a pity he was too ardent.  I could have given him some good advice, which would have saved him from all his misfortunes; but he would not have followed it; for it seems as if a fatality attended Princes, forcing them to shut their ears, those of the mind, at least, to the best advice, and especially in the most critical moments.”  “And the Constable,” said Madame, “what do you say of him?” “I cannot say much good or much harm of him,” replied he.  “Was the Court of Francis I. very brilliant?” “Very brilliant; but those of his grandsons infinitely surpassed it.  In the time of Mary Stuart and Margaret of Valois it was a land of enchantment—­a temple, sacred to pleasures of every kind; those of the mind were not neglected.  The two Queens were learned, wrote verses, and spoke with captivating grace and eloquence.”  Madame said, laughing, “You seem to have seen all this.”  “I have an excellent memory,” said he, “and have read the history of France with great care.  I sometimes amuse myself, not by making, but by letting it be believed that I lived in old times.”  “You do not tell me your age, however, and you give yourself out for very old.  The Comtesse de Gergy, who was Ambassadress to Venice, I think, fifty years ago, says she knew you there