The duc de Fronsac was justly hated by his father; he was what is
called a decided scamp, without one redeeming point or virtue.
Dissipated without agreeableness, a courtier without address, a
soldier without courage, he thoroughly deserved his bad reputation.
He was not hated, because hatred implies a species of honor, but he
was universally despised. His father hated him; he hated his father.
The reciprocity was edifying. I have often seen the duc de Fronsac,
and always with disgust. He had incurred the extremity of
punishment; when trying to carry off a butcher's daughter, he
rendered himself guilty of the triple crimes of arson, rape, and
robbery. This was the most splendid deed of his life, at least his
father said so, the only one in which he had shown--guess what
for, my friend, I will not pen the cynical word made use of by his
father. It must be confessed that we sometimes kept very bad
company at Versailles. The king, who abhorred degrading actions,
did not like the duc de Fronsac, but was full of kindly feeling
towards the duc d'Aiguillon. The latter experienced the extent
of his favor in his long and obstinate struggle with the parliament
of Bretagne. It must be owned, that if he gained the victory at
court, he decidedly lost it in the city, and I was publicly
insulted on this account in the most brutal manner. However,
the friendship which his first interview inspired me with, I have
always preserved unaltered.

The week glided away, and each day my fortune seemed more fully
assured. The love of the king increased, he heaped presents on
me perpetually, and seemed to think he never could do enough for
me. The bounties of Louis XV were known, and instantly aroused
against me the two enemies with whom I had been threatened--the