Fontanges.  Oh, yes! you may.  I told him I was almost sure I should be ashamed of confessing such naughty things to a person of high rank, who writes like an angel.

Bossuet.  The observation was inspired, mademoiselle, by your goodness and modesty.

Fontanges.  You are so agreeable a man, monseigneur, I will confess to you, directly, if you like.

Bossuet.  Have you brought yourself to a proper frame of mind, young lady?

Fontanges.  What is that?

Bossuet.  Do you hate sin?

Fontanges.  Very much.

Bossuet.  Are you resolved to leave it off?

Fontanges.  I have left it off entirely since the King began to love me.  I have never said a spiteful word of anybody since.

Bossuet.  In your opinion, mademoiselle, are there no other sins than malice?

Fontanges.  I never stole anything; I never committed adultery; I never coveted my neighbour’s wife; I never killed any person, though several have told me they should die for me.

Bossuet.  Vain, idle talk!  Did you listen to it?

Fontanges.  Indeed I did, with both ears; it seemed so funny.

Bossuet.  You have something to answer for, then?

Fontanges.  No, indeed, I have not, monseigneur.  I have asked many times after them, and found they were all alive, which mortified me.

Bossuet.  So, then! you would really have them die for you?

Fontanges.  Oh, no, no! but I wanted to see whether they were in earnest, or told me fibs; for, if they told me fibs, I would never trust them again.

Bossuet.  Do you hate the world, mademoiselle?

Fontanges.  A good deal of it:  all Picardy, for example, and all Sologne; nothing is uglier—­and, oh my life! what frightful men and women!

Bossuet.  I would say, in plain language, do you hate the flesh and the devil?

Fontanges.  Who does not hate the devil?  If you will hold my hand the while, I will tell him so.—­I hate you, beast!  There now.  As for flesh, I never could bear a fat man.  Such people can neither dance nor hunt, nor do anything that I know of.

Bossuet.  Mademoiselle Marie-Angelique de Scoraille de Rousille, Duchess de Fontanges! do you hate titles and dignities and yourself?

Fontanges.  Myself! does anyone hate me?  Why should I be the first?  Hatred is the worst thing in the world:  it makes one so very ugly.

Bossuet.  To love God, we must hate ourselves.  We must detest our bodies, if we would save our souls.