the best mode of rendering our life and its inconveniences endurable
is to give them a colouring of romance.' I did not understand her
then, but I have often since thought of her words, when the
recollection of the poetical aspect of the situation has aided my
courage and my good temper. Madame de Rambouillet looked into my
eyes as she spoke, then said: 'Pardon an old woman, my dear;' and
kissed my brow, saying: 'You will not do what I have only dreamt of.'

Finally she led us forward to our great-uncle, saying: 'Madame le
Marquis, I have conversed with these children. They love one
another, and so long as that love lasts they will be better guardians
to one another than ten governors or twenty dames de compagnie.'

In England we should certainly not have done all this in public, and
my husband and I were terribly put to the blush; indeed, I felt my
whole head and neck burning, and caught a glimpse of myself in a
dreadful mirror, my white bridal dress and flaxen hair making my
fiery face look, my brothers would have said, 'as if I had been
skinned.'

And then, to make it all worse, a comical little crooked lady, with a
keen lively face, came hopping up with hands outspread, crying: 'Ah,
let me see her! Where is the fair Gildippe, the true heroine, who is
about to confront the arrows of the Lydians for the sake of the lord
of her heart?'

'My niece,' said the Marquis, evidently gratified by the sensation I
had created, 'Mademoiselle de Scudery does you the honour of
requesting to be presented to you.'