was, in any case, short-lived. But this princess of intrepid
spirit, versatile gifts, ideal fancies, and platonic theories,
who had aimed at an emperor and missed a throne; this amazon,
with her penchant for glory and contempt for love, forgot all her
sage precepts, and at forty-two fell a victim to a violent
passion for the Comte de Lauzun. She has traced its course to
the finest shades of sentiment. Her pride, her infatuation, her
scruples, her new-born humility--we are made familiar with them
all, even to the finesse of her respectful adorer, and the
reluctant confession of love which his discreet silence wrings
from her at last.. Her royal cousin, after much persuasion,
consented to the unequal union. The impression this affair made
upon the world is vividly shown in a letter written by Mme. de
Sevigne to her daughter:

I am going to tell you a thing the most astonishing, the most
surprising, the most marvelous, the most miraculous, the most
triumphant, the most astounding, the most unheard of, the most
singular, the most extraordinary, the most incredible, the most
unexpected, the grandest, the smallest, the rarest, the most
common, the most dazzling, the most secret even until today, the
most brilliant, the most worthy of envy . . . . a thing in fine
which is to be done Sunday, when those who see it will believe
themselves dazed; a thing which is to be done Sunday and which
will not perhaps have been done Monday . . . M. de Lauzun
marries Sunday, at the Louvre--guess whom? . . . He marries
Sunday at the Louvre, with the permission of the King,
Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle de, Mademoiselle; guess the name; he
marries Mademoiselle, MA FOI, PAR MA FOI, MA FOI JUREE,
Mademoiselle, la grande Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, daughter of