gave herself some liberty in the smallest matter without leave, he treated her like a servant, and often her tears lasted several days. This haughty princess, who was so fond of display and indulging her boundless pride, could bring herself so low as to partake of obscene parties with him and unmentionable people--she with whom no one could dine unless he were prince of the blood. The Jesuit Riglet, whom she as a child had known, and who had brought her up, was admitted to these private meals, without feeling ashamed himself or the Duchess being embarrassed. Madame de Mouchy was admitted into the secret of all these strange events; she and Riom summoned the company and chose the days. This lady was the peacemaker between the two lovers, [Pg 145] and the whole of this existence was a matter of general knowledge at the Luxembourg. Riom was there looked to, as the centre of everything, while on his side he was careful to live on good terms with all, honouring them with a show of respect, which he refused in public only to his princess. Before everybody he would give her curt answers, which would make the whole company lower their eyes and bring blushes to the cheeks of the Duchess, who put no constraint upon her idolatry of him." Riom was a sovereign remedy, for the Duchess, against the monotony of life. A famous woman said once off-hand to General Bonaparte, then a young hero covered with glory and with no crimes against liberty on his conscience: "General, a woman could only be a wife or a sister to you." The hero did not understand the compliment, which the world has made up for with some pretty slanders. The women, of whom we are speaking, like to be despised by their lover, whom they only love in his cruelty. [1] Memoirs of Madame d'Épinay, I think, or of Marmontel. [2] Whatever certain hypocritical ministers may say, power is the foremost of pleasures. I believe love alone can beat it, and love is a lucky illness, which cannot be got like a ministry. [Pg 146] CHAPTER XXXIX (Part II) REMEDIES AGAINST LOVE The leap of Leucas was a fine image of antiquity. It is true, the remedy of love is almost impossible. A danger is needed to call man's attention back sharply to look to his own preservation.[1] But that is not all. What is harder to realise--a pressing danger must continue, and one that can only be averted with care, in order that the habit of thinking of his own preservation may have time to take root. I can see nothing that will do but a storm of sixteen days, like that in _Don Juan_[2] or the shipwreck of M. Cochelet among the Moors. Otherwise, one gets soon used to the peril, and even drops back into thoughts of the loved one with still more charm--when reconnoitring at twenty yards' range from the enemy.