mother's friends, in the end gives due consideration to this
loyal confidant, though she does not hesitate to ridicule the
mysticism into which he finally drifted.

After Mme. de La Fayette, the woman whose relations with Mme. de
Sevigne were the most intimate was Mme. de Coulanges, who merits
here more than a passing word. Her wit was proverbial, her
popularity universal. The Leaf, the Fly, the Sylph, the Goddess,
her friend calls her in turn, with many a light thrust at her
volatile but loyal character. This brilliant, spirituelle,
caustic woman was the wife of a cousin of the Marquis de Sevigne,
who was as witty as herself and more inconsequent. Both were
amiable, both sparkled with bons mots and epigrams, but they
failed to entertain each other. The husband goes to Italy or
Germany or passes his time in various chateaux, where he is sure
of a warm welcome and good cheer. The wife goes to Versailles,
visits her cousin Louvois, the Duchesse de Richelieu, and Mme. de
Maintenon, who loves her much; or presides at home over a salon
that is always well filled. "Ah, Madame," said M. de Barillon,
"how much your house pleases me! I shall come here very evening
when I am tired of my family." "Monsieur," she replied, "I
expect you tomorrow." When she was ill and likely to die, her
husband had a sudden access of affection, and nursed her with
great tenderness. Mme. de Coulanges dying and her husband in
grief, seemed somehow out of the order of things. "A dead
vivacity, a weeping gaiety, these are prodigies," wrote Mme. de
Sevigne. When the wife recovered, however, they took their
separate ways as before.

"Your letters are delicious," she wrote once to Mme. de Sevigne,