Mlle. Moiseney, the duties of whose office consisted in serving as chaperon to Mlle. Moriaz, was not a great genius.  This worthy and excellent personage had, in fact, rather a circumscribed mind, and she had not the least suspicion of it.  Her physiognomy was not pleasing to M. Moriaz; he had several times besought his daughter to part with her.  In the goodness of her soul Antoinette always refused; she was not one who could countenance rebuffs to old domestics, old dogs, old horses, or worn-out governesses.  Young Candide arrived at the conclusion, as the result of his observations, that the first degree of happiness would be to be Mlle. Gunegonde, and the second to contemplate her throughout life.  Mlle. Moiseney believed that it would be the first degree of superhuman felicity to be Mlle. Moriaz, the second to pass one’s life near this queen, who, arbitrary and capricious though she might be, was most thoughtful of the happiness of her subjects, and to be able to say:  “It was I that hatched the egg whence arose this phoenix; I did something for this marvel; I taught her English and music.”  She had boundless admiration for her queen, amounting actually to idolatry.  The English profess that their sovereigns can do nothing amiss:  “The king can do no wrong.”  Mlle. Moiseney was convinced that Mlle. Moriaz could neither do wrong nor make mistakes about anything.  She saw everything with her eyes, espoused her likes and her dislikes, her sentiments, her opinions, her rights, and her wrongs; she lived, as it were, a reflected existence.  Every morning she said to her idol, “How beautiful we are to-day!” precisely as the bell-ringer who, puffing out his cheeks, cried:  “We are in voice; we have chanted vespers well to-day!” M. Moriaz excused her for finding his daughter charming, but could not so readily approve of her upholding Antoinette’s ideas, her decisions, her prejudices.  “This woman is no chaperon,” said he; “she is an admiration-point!” He would have been very glad to have routed her from the field, and to give her place to a person of good sound sense and judgment, one who might gain some influence over Antoinette.  It would have greatly surprised Mlle. Moiseney had he represented to her that she lacked good sense.  This good creature flattered herself that she had an inexhaustible stock of this commodity; she placed the highest estimate on her own judgment; she believed herself to be well-nigh infallible.  She discoursed in the tone of an oracle on future contingencies; she prided herself on being able to divine all things, to foresee all things, to predict all things—­in a word, to be in the secret of the gods.  As her Christian name was Joan, M. Moriaz, who set little store by his calendar, sometimes called her Pope Joan, which wounded her deeply.