For a short time she abandoned literature and the belles-lettres to plunge into alchemy, for which she had a mania. Her friends remonstrated in vain; they told her how many other people alchemy had ruined, but she not the less persisted in flinging the remains of her fortune into the crucible. Like all who have been bewitched by this science, Marie fancied that her experiments were arrested by poverty at the moment of success. She retrenched in every way; in food, in clothing; reduced herself to barest necessaries; and sat constantly with the bellows in her hand, hanging over the smoke of her furnace. Of course, no gold rewarded her research, and she was at length absolutely obliged to abandon her laboratory, and betake herself afresh to literature. As generous in adversity as she had been in prosperity, Mademoiselle de Gournay was not hindered by her poverty from adopting an orphan child, the daughter of Jamyn, the poet, and friend of Ronsard. In the society of this young girl, and of a cat which she celebrated in verse, Marie de Gournay allowed every thing in the world to change and progress as they might, fully persuaded that the glory of French literature had died with her adopted father, and that she had had the honor of burying it. This cat deserves a special mention, as it was a very noticeable animal in its day. It rejoiced in the name of _Piallion_, and during the twelve years it lived with Mademoiselle de Gournay, it never once quitted the apartments of its mistress to run with other cats upon the roofs and gutters of the neighboring houses; it was, in all respects, discreet and dignified, as became a cat of quality, and above all, as became the cat of such a mistress as Mademoiselle de Gournay. If Mademoiselle de Gournay had been young and handsome, _Piallion_ would, no doubt, have been as celebrated as Leslie's sparrow; as it was, however, it only shared in the satires and caricatures that were made upon its mistress. When Mademoiselle de Gournay renounced alchemy, and began again to busy herself in literature, she unfortunately mixed herself up in some controversy of the day where the Jesuits were in question; we forget what side she took, but she brought down upon herself much abuse and scandal; among other things, she was accused of having led an irregular life, and being even then, "_une femme galante!_" This charge distressed her greatly, and she appealed to a friend to write her vindication. He told her by way of consolation, that if she would publish her portrait, it would be more effectual than a dozen vindications! Poor Mademoiselle de Gournay had long since lost whatever good looks she had possessed in early life, and her alchemical pursuits had added at least ten years to her appearance.