A favourite mistress, by pursuing a different plan from that of the duchess, secured his affections. She kept alive his ardour by her caprices. _Affectation_ always exceeds the _reality_. But is not the extravagance of some men's fancy to be pitied, who lodge all their passions in a mistress, a dog, or a horse, which but in general do them no service but what they are prompted to through necessity or instinct? Art and cunning are _unknown_ to a woman of virtue, whose conduct is determined by her principles, whose anxiety alone is excited by affection. After five years, in which the duchess had a son and a daughter, and in which she had experienced many of the _vexations_, but few of the _satisfactions_ of a married state; the duke left her, and resided entirely in Paris with his mistress. She retired to the country, to a family-seat of her father's, and devoted her time entirely to the education of her children, and that of a young lady (of great beauty and fortune) whose mother with her last breath bequeathed to her care. She from time to time wrote the duke letters, expressing great resignation, and such a tenderness for him as she thought might have power to touch his heart. "I am obedient to your wishes," said she, "I will not urge, with one unwelcome word, this unkindness--I'll conceal it--If your heart has made a choice more worthy, I forgive it--pursue your pleasures--drive without a rein your passions--I am the mistress of my own mind, that shall not mutiny--If I retrieve you, I shall be thankful--If not, you _are_ and must be still _my lord_." To letters such as these she never received any answer! as the charms of a woman's eloquence never have any force, when those of her person are expired (in the eyes of her lover I mean): it might be perhaps as easy to persuade a man to dance, who had lost the use of his limbs.