I was telling you that madame de Mirepoix urged me to repair, as I was requested, to the Baths of Apollo. I had a key which opened all the park gates; we entered the park, took the path which turns off to the left, and after having walked for about five minutes, found ourselves opposite the person we were in search of. It was a female of from thirty to forty years of age, of diminutive stature, dressed after the fashion of the _bourgeoises_ of the day, but still an air of good taste was evident through the simplicity of her attire. Her countenance must once have been handsome, if one might judge by the beauty of her eyes and mouth, but she was pale, withered and already impressed with the traces of a premature old age. But her beauties, although faded, were still animated by a quick and ever-varying expression of a keen and lively wit. Whilst I made these hasty remarks the stranger saluted me, and afterwards the maréchale de Mirepoix, with a ease of manner which perfectly surprised me. Nor did she in any other instance betray the embarrassment of a person who finds herself for the first time in the presence of persons of a rank superior to her own. “Madam,” she said, addressing herself to me, “I trust you will pardon me for having given you the trouble of coming hither; I might have spared it you, had your people permitted me to see you when I called at your house yesterday.” “Your invitation,” replied I, “was so pressingly enforced, that I confess my curiosity has been most keenly awakened.” “I will immediately satisfy it,” answered she, “but what I have to say must be told to yourself alone.” “Well, then,” said the maréchale, “I will leave you for the present: I am going to admire that fine group of Girardon”; and so saying, she quitted the walk in which I was standing. Directly she was gone the stranger said to me, “Madam, I will explain myself without reserve or unnecessary prolixity; I beseech of you to listen attentively whilst I tell you, in the first place, that both your life and that of the king is in imminent danger.” “Heavens!” cried I, “what do I hear?” “That which I well know to be true,” answered the female, with a firm voice; “I repeat that your life and that of the king is in danger.” These words, pronounced in a low, solemn voice, froze me with terror; my limbs tottered under me, and I almost sank to the ground. The stranger assisted me to a bench, offered me her arm, and when she saw me a little recovered, she continued, “Yes, madam, a conspiracy is afoot against yourself and Louis XV. You are to be made away with out of revenge, and Louis XV is to suffer, in the hopes of his death effecting a change in the present face of affairs.” “And who,” inquired I, “are the conspirators?”