She had determined to make a figure in the Versailles chapel from the time her favor began. She meant to shine everywhere, even before the altars. It was this that made her request the Queen’s authorization to carry one of the basins at the ceremony of feet washing on Maundy Thursday, and collect the offerings at the High Mass on Easter Sunday. But easy as she was where no one but herself was concerned, Marie Leczinska became severe where God was in question: she refused. The Jubilee of 1751 redoubled the anxieties of the Marquise. D’Argenson wrote, February 2: “People assert that the King will gain his Jubilee and make his Easter Communion. The Marquise says there is no longer anything but friendship between the King and her, and that they will put a fortnight’s retreat and truce even to this friendship.” The attitude of a repentant Magdalen would not have suited a woman like Madame de Pompadour. She was willing enough for a little devotion, but of an elegant and worldly sort, ostentatious and luxurious. The theatre, in a word, pleased her much better than the church. D’Argenson wrote again, February 6: “All Paris has been talking of the representation of _Thétis et Pélée_, eight days ago, at which the Marquise de Pompadour was present. The actors addressed her directly in the gallant parts, such as, ‘Reign, beautiful Thetis!’ This she received with a triumphant air which a woman of different extraction would not have assumed; for some feed their vanity on what others could not endure without shame.” But what afflicted the haughty favorite was the thought that all this success might topple over in an instant, like a house of cards. At the very time when, always an actress, even under the deceptive appearances of her so-called repentance, she was having a statue of herself as the goddess of Friendship made for Bellevue, she had several attacks of fever--people called it the Jubilee fever.