"I am," Madame said to me [1705], "in great joy whenever I see the door closing behind me as I enter here; and I never go out of it without pain. Often, on returning to Versailles, I think: 'This is the world, and apparently the world for which Jesus Christ would not pray on the eve of his death. I know there are good souls at Court, and that God has saints in all conditions; but it is certain that what is called the world is centred here; it is here that all passions are in motion,--self-interest, ambition, envy, pleasure; this is the world so often cursed by God.' I own to you that these reflections give me a sense of sadness and horror for that place, where, nevertheless, I have to live." [Illustration: _Louis XIV at Marly._] After speaking with Madame of various afflicting things, I said to her that at least she would see none in this house, for all was going on so well it ought to be a place of rest to her, where she could take comfort for what she suffered elsewhere. "That is just so," replied Madame, "and what should I do without this house? I could not live. I think that God has given it to me, not for my salvation only, but for my rest; it does not serve me only to pray to God and gather myself together, but it diverts my mind; it makes me forget those other things. When I am here, and busy, when we hold counsel together or I talk with the young ladies, I do not even think there is a Court, and I breathe freely." "I thought this morning," I said, "when I saw you taking the communion, that it may have been long since you had such a morning, when you could pray to God at your ease and collect yourself."