The conversation became warm and angry, the duke and myself, with crimson cheeks and inflamed countenances, surveyed each other with haughty defiance. At length he added, “I had hoped that I should have quitted you more kindly disposed towards me.” “And I, my lord, fancied that you were coming with an ardent desire for peace; but no, the spirit of your sister leads you astray, and you would fain punish me for her absence from court.” “Madam, I beseech you to leave my sister in peace; she has gone, that ought to satisfy you. We will not, if you please, speak of her.” “I only wish that she would likewise do me the honour to be silent respecting me. I am not ignorant that she continues to aim her slanders at me from afar as she did when near me. One might suppose that the sole object of her journeyings was but to excite all France against me.” “Madam, you are mistaken. My sister--” “Continues to play the same part in the country she did in Paris. She detests me because I happen to have youth and beauty on my side. May her hatred last forever.” “Ah, madam, say not so; for with your charms you are indeed too formidable an antagonist; and the more so, as I clearly perceive you are not inclined for peace.” “At least,” said I, “the war on my side shall be fair and open, and those belonging to you have not always waged it with me upon those terms.” The duke merely warded off this last assertion by some unmeaning compliment, and we separated greater enemies than ever. The first person to whom I could communicate what had passed was the duc d’Aiguillon. He listened to my recital without any decided expression of his opinion; but no sooner had I concluded, than he took me by the hand, and pressing it with a friendly grasp, “How I congratulate you,” said he, “upon the good fortune which has extricated you from this affair. Do you know that a reconciliation with the duc de Choiseul would have involved your inevitable disgrace? What evil genius counselled you to act in such a manner?” “I fancied I was doing right,” said I, “in thus proving to the king that I was not an unreasonable woman.” “The Choiseuls,” replied he, “would have entangled you in their nets, and, separated from your real friends, would have made you the innocent author of your own destruction. Tell the king just so much, that the duc de Choiseul has been to see you, that you conversed together some time, and that he has offended you more than ever.” “I promise you, my kind friend,” said I, “to follow your advice.” When I next saw the king, I apprized him of the visit. “That does not astonish me,” said Louis XV, “the duke is anxious to be on friendly terms with you.”