cynically disposed who declare that feminine friendships are
simply "pretty bows of ribbon" and nothing more. These women
were fundamentally unlike, but they supplemented each other. The
character of Mme. de La Fayette was of firmer and more serious
texture. She had greater precision of thought, more delicacy of
sentiment, and affections not less deep. But her temperament was
less sunny, her genius less impulsive, her wit less sparkling,
and her manner less demonstrative. "She has never been without
that divine reason which was her dominant trait," wrote her
friend. No praise pleased her so much as to be told that her
judgment was superior to her intellect, and that she loved truth
in all things. "She would not have accorded the least favor to
any one, if she had not been convinced it was merited," said
Segrais; "this is why she was sometimes called hard, though she
was really tender." As an evidence of her candor, he thinks it
worth while to record that "she did not even conceal her age, but
told freely in what year and place she was born." But she
combined to an eminent degree sweetness with strength,
sensibility with reason, and it was the blending of such diverse
qualities that gave so rare a flavor to her character. In this,
too, lies the secret of the vast capacity for friendship which
was one of her most salient points. It is through the records
which these friendships have left, through the literary work that
formed the solace of so many hours of sadness and suffering, and
through the letters of Mme. de Sevigne, that we are able to trace
the classic outlines of this fine and complex nature, so noble,
so poetic, so sweet, and yet so strong.

Mme. de La Fayette was eight years younger than Mme. de Sevigne,
and died three years earlier; hence they traversed together the