My uncle had been a friend of the unhappy Madame de Valliere, who, at this time under the name of Sister Louise de la Misericorde, was striving to expiate her errors by a life of more than ordinary austerity among the Carmelite nuns of Paris. He had had the imprudence to speak contemptuously of Madame de Montespan, and his remarks had been carried to the lady's ears by one of those tale-bearers who flourish at court. Of course madame became his enemy. She had great influence with the king, though not so much as Madame de Maintenon came to have afterward. My uncle's disgrace grew more and more apparent every day, and at last he received peremptory orders to retire to his château in Provence, where he held some sort of office under government. He was allowed, however, to remain in Paris for two or three weeks, to settle up his affairs there, which were, I imagine, in no little confusion. My aunt was in despair. To be banished from court was to be cast out of heaven in her estimation. She hated the country, and went thither even for a few weeks with unwillingness. She wept and went into fits of the nerves, as she usually did under any disturbance of mind or body. The poor lady was really very ill for a few days, and as I was the only person who had the least control over her in her paroxysms, I had my hands full. However, she had an elastic constitution of mind and body, and she soon recovered, and began planning all sorts of amusements, one of which, I remember, was to be the refurnishing of the Château de Fayrolles from top to bottom. I was glad to see her diverted by anything, and I listened to all her schemes, and being ready with my pencil, was able to afford her pleasure by sketching designs for furniture, hangings, and the like, which even my uncle declared to be very clever.