The following extract seems to show that she had a yearning for something better in the midst of this idle dissipation--though the terms in which she expresses herself are far from commendable: "I wish I could be religious. I plague La Moresse--the abbe--about it every day. I belong at present neither to God nor devil; and I find this condition very uncomfortable; though, between you and me, I think it the most natural in the world. One does not belong to the devil, because one fears God, and has at bottom a principle of religion; but then, on the other hand, one does not belong to God, because his laws appear hard, and self-denial is not pleasant. Hence the great number of the lukewarm, which does not surprise me at all; I enter perfectly into their reasons; only God, you know, hates them, and that must not be. But there lies the difficulty. Why must I torment you with these rhapsodies? My dear child, _I ask your pardon_, as they say in these parts. I rattle on in your company, and forget every thing else in the pleasure of it. Don't make me any answer. Send me only news of your health, with a spice of what you feel at Grignan, that I may know you are happy; that is all. Love me. We have turned the phrase into ridicule; but it is natural; it is good." Perhaps she was led into these reflections by her admiration for the beautiful Duchess de Longueville, who, from having been "the greatest of sinners, became the greatest of saints:" a princess of the blood royal,--a leader in all the dissolute scenes which characterized the wars of the Fronde,--she voluntarily retired to a convent, where she practised all those austerities, by which the pious Catholic believed he might atone for past transgressions. Of the sincerity of her conversion she gave repeated testimonies, and Madame de Sevigne ever speaks of her with the greatest veneration and respect. That she had too much good practical sense to be deceived by those who sought by the excitement of religious rites to make up for the loss of the excitements of pleasure, or who assumed the garb of religion in mere compliance with the fashion which prevailed at court, under the rule of Madame de Maintenon, is apparent from the light tone of the following passage: "Madame de T. wears no rouge, and hides her person, instead of displaying it. Under this disguise it is difficult to know her again. I was sitting next her at dinner the other day, and a servant brought her a glass of _vin de liqueur_; she turned to me, and said, 'This man does not know that I am _devote_.' This made us all laugh, and she spoke very naturally of her changes, and of her good intentions. She now minds what she says of her neighbors, and stops short in her recitals, with a scream at her bad habits. There are bets made that Madame d'H. will not be _devote_ within a year, and that she will resume her rouge. This rouge is the law and the prophets, and on this rouge turns the whole of the Christian religion."