preference which must naturally he acceptable to those among whom her
future life was to be spent.

In the middle of May, the Count de Provence was married to the Princess
Joséphine Louise of Savoy, and the court went to Fontainebleau to receive
the bride. The necessity for leaving Madame du Barri behind threw the king
more into the company of the dauphiness than he had been on any previous
occasion, and her unaffected graces seemed for the moment to have made a
complete conquest of him. He came in his dressing-gown to her apartments
for breakfast, and spent a great portion of the day there. The courtiers
again began to speculate on her breaking down the ascendency of the
favorite, remarking that, though Louis was careful to pay his new relative
the honors which, were her due as a stranger and a bride, he returned as
speedily as he could with decency to the dauphiness as if for relief; and
that, though she herself took care to put her new sister-in-law forward on
all occasions, and treated her with the most marked cordiality and
affection, every one else made the dauphiness the principal object of
homage even in the festivities which were celebrated in honor of the
countess. Indeed, it was evident from the very first that any attempt of
the mistress's cabal to establish a rivalry between the two princesses
must be out of the question. The Countess de Provence had no beauty, nor
accomplishments, nor graciousness. Horace Walpole, who was meditating a
visit to Paris, where he had some diligent correspondents, was told that
he would lose his senses when he saw the dauphiness, but would be
disenchanted by her sister; and the saying, though that of a blind old
lady, expressed the opinion of all Frenchmen who could see.[6]

Indeed, so obvious was the king's partiality for her that even Madame du
Barri more than once sought to propitiate her by speaking in praise of her
to Mercy, and professing an eager desire to aid in procuring the