In her amours she was Lucretia herself; in her epicurism, Apicius would have yielded to her.

She was pleased with sighs, but she adored suppers.

She would leave every thing for her lover, except her dinner.

The attache soon quarrelled with her, and I was installed into the platonic honours of his office.
At first, I own that I was flattered by her choice, and though she was terribly exigeante of my petits soins, I managed to keep up her affection, and, what is still more wonderful, my own, for the better part of a month.

What then cooled me was the following occurrence: I was in her boudoir one evening, when her femme de chambre came to tell us that the duc was in the passage.