The simplicity of comte d’Aranda indemnified us in some degree for the haughty superciliousness of his predecessor. Although no longer young, he still preserved all the tone and vigor of his mind, and only the habit which appeared to have been born with him of reflecting, gave him a slow and measured tone in speaking. His reserved and embarrassed manners were but ill-calculated to show the man as he really was, and it required all the advantages of intimacy to see him in his true value. You may attach so much more credit to what I say of this individual, as I can only add, that he was by no means one of my best friends. When Louis XV heard of the nomination of the comte d’Aranda to the embassy from Spain to France, he observed to me, “The king of Spain gets rid of his Choiseul by sending him to me.” “Then why not follow so excellent an example, sire?” replied I; “and since your Choiseul is weary of Chanteloup, why not command him upon some political errand to the court of Madrid.” “Heaven preserve me from such a thing,” exclaimed Louis XV. “Such a man as he is ought never to quit the kingdom, and I have been guilty of considerable oversight to leave him the liberty of so doing. But to return to comte d’Aranda; he has some merit I understand; still I like not that class of persons around me; they are inexorable censors, who condemn alike every action of my life.” However, not the king’s greatest enemy could have found fault with his manner of passing his leisure hours. A great part of each day was occupied in a mysterious manufacture of cases for relics, and one of his _valets de chambre_, named Turpigny, was intrusted with the commission of purchasing old shrines and reliquaries; he caused the sacred bones, or whatever else they contain, to be taken out by Grandelatz, one of his almoners, re-adjusted, and then returned to new cases. These reliquaries were distributed by him to his daughters, or any ladies of the court of great acknowledged piety. When I heard of this I mentioned it to the king, who wished at first to conceal the fact; but, as he was no adept at falsehood or disguise, he was compelled to admit the fact. “I trust, sire,” said I, “that you will bestow one of your prettiest and best-arranged reliquaries on me.” “No, no,” returned he, hastily, “that cannot be.” “And why not?” asked I. “Because,” answered he, “it would be sinful of me. Ask anything else in my power to bestow, and it shall be yours.” This was no hypocrisy on the part of Louis XV, who, spite of his somewhat irregular mode of life, professed to hold religion in the highest honor and esteem; to all that it proscribed he paid the submission of a child. We had ample proofs of this in the sermons preached at Versailles by the abbé de Beauvais, afterwards bishop of Senetz.