Can one be surprised, after this, that Madame de Pompadour should have been persuaded of her own merit, wit, and even genius; that she cherished strange illusions concerning her rôle and her character; that she took herself seriously, even tragically; that she regarded any adverse criticism of her as high treason against beauty and majesty? With such an array of luxury and power, such a mass of riches, jewels, objects of art, such a court of ingenious and amiable courtiers, with all that could soothe her vanity, coquetry, and pride, with the ability to realize all her fancies and caprices, one might perhaps think the favorite was happy. Well! no. VI THE GRIEFS OF THE MARQUISE DE POMPADOUR “I pity you much, Madame, while all the world envies you.” The person who addressed this just remark to the Marquise de Pompadour was her inseparable confidant, her lady’s maid, Madame du Hausset, the woman to whom she told everything, whom she always kept near her, and to whom she said: “The King and I rely on you so fully that we pay no more attention to you than to a cat or dog, but go right on talking.” The Marquise recognized the truth of her confidant’s melancholy words: “Ah!” she answered, “my life is like that of a Christian: a perpetual combat.” Strange comparison! Most inexact comparison! for the Christian combats for God, while the favorite was combating for the devil. This, in fact, was the cause of her sadness. The love of God consoles one for all sacrifices; but woe to the woman who makes herself the slave of a man! Madame de Pompadour placed no confidence in Louis XV., and she was right. The Maréchale de Mirepoix said to her one day: “It is your staircase that the King likes; he is used to going up and down it. But if he found another woman to whom he could talk about his hunting and his affairs, it would be all the same to him at the end of three days.”