was more rare.  He had, too, another fault, very dangerous for others and often for himself, since it deprived him of good subjects.  He had an excellent memory; in this way, that if he saw a man who, twenty years before, perhaps, had in some manner offended him, he did not forget the man, though he might forget the offence.  This was enough, however, to exclude the person from all favour.  The representations of a minister, of a general, of his confessor even, could not move the King.  He would not yield.

The most cruel means by which the King was informed of what was passing—­ for many years before anybody knew it—­was that of opening letters.  The promptitude and dexterity with which they were opened passes understanding.  He saw extracts from all the letters in which there were passages that the chiefs of the post-office, and then the minister who governed it, thought ought to go before him; entire letters, too, were sent to him, when their contents seemed to justify the sending.  Thus the chiefs of the post, nay, the principal clerks were in a position to suppose what they pleased and against whom they pleased.  A word of contempt against the King or the government, a joke, a detached phrase, was enough.  It is incredible how many people, justly or unjustly, were more or less ruined, always without resource, without trial, and without knowing why.  The secret was impenetrable; for nothing ever cost the King less than profound silence and dissimulation.

This last talent he pushed almost to falsehood, but never to deceit, pluming himself upon keeping his word,—­therefore he scarcely ever gave it.  The secrets of others he kept as religiously as his own.  He was even flattered by certain confessions and certain confidences; and there was no mistress, minister, or favourite, who could have wormed them out, even though the secret regarded themselves.

We know, amongst many others, the famous story of a woman of quality, who, after having been separated a year from her husband, found herself in the family way just as he was on the point of returning from the army, and who, not knowing what else to do, in the most urgent manner begged a private interview of the King.  She obtained it, and confined to him her position, as to the worthiest man in his realm, as she said.  The King counselled her to profit by her distress, and live more wisely for the future, and immediately promised to retain her husband on the frontier as long as was necessary, and to forbid his return under any pretext, and in fact he gave orders the same day to Louvois, and prohibited the husband not only all leave of absence, but forbade him to quit for a single day the post he was to command all the winter.  The officer, who was distinguished, and who had neither wished nor asked to be employed all the winter upon the frontier, and Louvois, who had in no way thought of it, were equally surprised and vexed.  They were obliged, however, to obey to the letter, and without asking why; and the King never mentioned the circumstance until many years afterwards, when he was quite sure nobody could find out either husband or wife, as in fact they never could, or even obtain the most vague or the most uncertain suspicion.