Another _grande dame_ whom the duke honoured by his attentions was the Marquise de Richelieu,[230] a lady whom Saint-Simon mentions, “because she is not worth the trouble of being silent about.” According to the same chronicler, he fell madly in love with this siren, and “spent millions upon her, and to keep himself informed of her movements.” One fine day, he discovered, to his profound indignation, that he had a successful rival in the person of the Comte de Roucy. He reproached the marchioness bitterly with her treachery, and, though she assured him that she had been cruelly maligned, he had her so closely watched that very soon the charge was brought home to her beyond any possibility of denial. In vain, did the culprit entreat his forgiveness; in vain, did she swear by all that she held sacred that Roucy’s love was as nothing to her in comparison with his, and that she would never see him again. The infuriated prince refused to be placated and turned to leave her. Then the fear of losing so prodigal a lover “suggested to the marchioness an excellent expedient for setting his mind at rest.” She proposed to give Roucy a rendezvous at her house, and that some of _Monsieur le Duc’s_ people should lie in wait; and, when the count appeared, make away with him. But, instead of the success she appears to have expected from this very Italian proposal,[231] the prince was so horrified that he immediately sent to warn Roucy, and never saw Madame de Richelieu again. A third inamorata of _Monsieur le Duc_, of whom we should have perhaps spoken before, since she was one of the loves of his youth, whereas his _liaisons_ with the Duchesse de Nevers and the Marquise de Richelieu belong to his riper years, was the widowed Comtesse de Marans, often mentioned in the letters of Madame de Sévigné, who speaks of her with unusual bitterness, owing, it is believed, to some disparaging remark which she had once let fall concerning the writer’s beloved daughter, Madame de Grignan. The countess was an extremely pretty woman, but the most inconsequent and extravagant creature in the world. According to Madame de Sévigné, she had been heard to declare that she would rather die than surrender herself to a man whom she loved; but, if a man loved her and she did not find him altogether odious, she would be willing to yield. Whether or no she loved _Monsieur le Duc_, she surrendered herself to him, and, in 1668, presented him with a daughter. The girl was at first known as Mlle. de Guenani, which is the anagram of her father’s duchy of Anguien (the old orthography of Enghien). But, in 1692, she was legitimated, and took the name of Julie de Condé, Mlle. de Châteaubriant. Brought up at first at Maubuisson, she was later sent to the Abbaye-aux-Bois, from which retreat, however, she occasionally emerged to pay visits to her relatives at Chantilly or Saint-Maur. At this time, there seems to have been some idea of her taking the