“Because,” said she, “mamma told me that the letter had been brought in the early morning by a chasseur all laced with gold, having a beautiful feather in his hat, and that he had urgently desired that the note should be delivered to you as soon as you awoke, because his mistress had told him: ‘Go quickly; we must not delay the joy and perhaps the fortune of the young man.’” There were two separate epistles. One was written by the Polish Princess T.... She was a sister of the unfortunate Prince Poniatowski who was drowned while directing the retreat at the battle of Leipsic. Lamartine did not know her and the letter was not addressed to him but to M. Alain, his friend and physician. M. Alain had been for six years the physician and friend of M. de Talleyrand, and during Lamartine’s illness he had cared for him like a mother rather than as a medical attendant. He is depicted as being as tender as learned. Lamartine describes him as most true, good, and generous. The letter of the princess had been written and despatched before daybreak, and was as follows:—“The Prince de Talleyrand sent me at my waking this note. I address it for your friend, in order that the pleasure which this impression of the great judge will bring you shall be doubled. Communicate this note of the Prince to the young man[2] and thank me for the pleasure which I am giving you, for I know that your sole delight is in the joy of those whom you love.” Lamartine opened the second note. It was written upon a scrap of paper about five fingers in dimension, spotted with ink, and in a hand evidently hurried and showing signs of fatigue from want of sleep. It began as follows:—“I send you, princess, before I go to sleep the little volume which you lent me last night. Let it suffice you to know that I have not slept, and that I have been reading till four o’clock in the morning so as to read it over again.” The rest of the note was a prediction of Lamartine’s success, in terms of the most fulsome character. Talleyrand was often oracular, and his foreknowledge seemed almost infallible.[3] “The soul of the old man has been said to be of ice,” Lamartine remarks, “but it glowed all one night with the enthusiasm of twenty years, and this fire had been kindled by certain pages of verses which were by no means complete but which were verses of love.” “I read the letter of Prince Talleyrand twenty times over,” says Lamartine. “The young girl meanwhile was waiting and watching me as I read and read again, and she blushed with emotion as she beheld it in my face. ‘Come, my little Lucy, and let me kiss you,’ said I. ‘You will never bring me a message equal to this. In the lottery of glory children draw the successful lots. Tell your mother that you have brought me a _quine_.’”[4]