M. de Choiseul, as he was going out, I said, in a low voice, that I wished to see him a few minutes on an affair of importance to my mistress.  He told me to come as soon as I pleased, and that I should be admitted.  I told him that Madame was extremely depressed; that she gave way to distressing thoughts, which she would not communicate; that she, one day, said to me, “The fortune-teller told me I should have time to prepare myself; I believe it, for I shall be worn to death by melancholy.”  M. de Choiseul appeared much affected; he praised my zeal, and said that he had already perceived some indications of what I told him; that he would not mention my name, but would try to draw from her an explanation.  I don’t know what he said to her; but, from that time, she was much more calm.  One day, but long afterwards, Madame said to M. de Gontaut, “I am generally thought to have great influence, but if it were not for M. de Choiseul, I should not be able to obtain a Cross of St. Louis.”

The King and Madame de Pompadour had a very high opinion of Madame de Choiseul.  Madame said, “She always says the right thing in the right place.”  Madame de Grammont was not so agreeable to them; and I think that this was to be attributed, in part, to the sound of her voice, and to her blunt manner of speaking; for she was said to be a woman of great sense, and devotedly attached to the King and Madame de Pompadour.  Some people pretended that she tried to captivate the King, and to supplant Madame:  nothing could be more false, or more ridiculously improbable.  Madame saw a great deal of these two ladies, who were extremely attentive to her.  She one day remarked to the Duc d’Ayen, that M. de Choiseul was very fond of his sisters.  “I know it, Madame,” said he, “and many sisters are the better for that.”  “What do you mean?” said she.  “Why,” said he, “as the Duc de Choiseul loves his sister, it is thought fashionable to do the same; and I know silly girls, whose brothers formerly cared nothing about them, who are now most tenderly beloved.  No sooner does their little finger ache, than their brothers are running about to fetch physicians from all corners of Paris.  They flatter themselves that somebody will say, in M. de Choiseul’s drawing-room, “How passionately M. de ——­ loves his sister; he would certainly die if he had the misfortune to lose her.”  Madame related this to her brother, in my presence, adding, that she could not give it in the Duke’s comic manner.  M. de Marigny said, “I have had the start of them all, without making so much noise; and my dear little sister knows that I loved her tenderly before Madame de Grammont left her convent.  The Duc d’Ayen, however, is not very wrong; he has made the most of it in his lively manner, but it is partly true.”  “I forgot,” replied Madame, “that the Duke said, ’I want extremely to be in the fashion, but which sister shall I take up?  Madame de Caumont is a devil incarnate, Madame de Villars drinks, Madame d’Armagnac is a bore, Madame de