I told her I was afraid, but being not so devout as M. de Brion, my fears
did not turn to litanies.

"You feared not," said she, "and I fancy you do not believe there are
devils, for M. de Turenne, who is very brave, was much surprised, and did
not march on so briskly as you."

I confess the distinction pleased me mightily and made me think of
venturing some compliments. I then said to her, "One may believe there
is a devil and yet not fear him; there are things in the world more
terrible."

"And what are they?" said she.

"They are so strong," said I, "that one dare not so much as name them."

She interpreted my meaning rightly, as she told me since, though she
seemed at that time not to understand me.

Mademoiselle was not what they call a great beauty, yet she was very
handsome, and I was complimented for saying of her and of Mademoiselle de
Guise that they were beauties of quality who convinced the beholders at
first sight that they were born Princesses. Mademoiselle de Vendome had
no great share of wit, but her folly lay as yet concealed; her air was
grave, tinctured with stateliness, not the effect of good sense, but the
consequence of a languid constitution, which sort of gravity often covers
a multitude of defects. In the main, take her altogether, she was really
amiable.