“This souvenir of Madame Dubarri,” said C., “forms one of the prince’s favourite _nouvelles de boudoir_, as he gracefully calls these fugitive anecdotes with which his memory is stored. I have observed that, from his youth upwards, his heart has ever softened towards the fair sex. I never heard him speak disparagingly of any woman, not even of those who, he is aware, have done him ill offices; while he is ever ready to allow that he owed much of his success in early life to the kindness and protection of his female friends. They alone had tact and penetration enough to discover the future influence of the Abbé de Perigord; while their ‘lords and masters’ beheld in him nothing more than the blind tool of an insane and furious party. Madame de Staël, who was his first conspicuous protectress, inspired, notwithstanding this, far less gratitude in the mind of her _protegé_ than the humble confederate with whom she leagued to obtain his pardon and recall, Madame de la Bouchardie. You will smile when I tell you, that even to this hour he cannot speak of this charming woman without emotion. I myself have heard his voice falter when he has mentioned her name. He loves to talk of her with those who still remember the matchless graces of her person, the exquisite sensibility and goodness of her heart. “I shall never forget the reply he made one day to my foolish _banal_ question of ‘What kind of person was she?’ “‘You could no more understand what _kind_ of person she was,’ he replied, with a contemptuous smile, ‘than _I_ can comprehend the admiration you bestow upon the poor, vapid puppets with which your modern drawing-rooms are filled, or the influence you allow to the female _bourgeoise_, the wives and daughters of your bankers, and your _agents de change_, who, if admitted at all to the _salons_ of the aristocracy of my day, would not occupy, as they now do, the high places, but those afar off, nearest the door. Any endeavour to make you understand the peculiar fascination of Madame de la Bouchardie would be useless; for you, in your generation, cannot have seen the like. She belonged to that class of women that followed the downfall of the monarchy, whose manners and habits were far different from those of the charming marquises of the _ancien régime_, and were, perhaps, even more charming still. Born amid strife and contention, daughters of the revolution, their part was to calm excitement, to soothe the angry passions which had been aroused, and well did they fulfil their gentle destiny. History will preserve the names of Madame Beauharnais, of Madame Tallien, of Madame Hamelin, not so much for their talents and courage as for their gentleness and influence in turning aside wrath, and saving the weak from the fury of the strong.’