spoiled by the homage of the Court, in a house open night and day, and to
which her beauty attracted all that was young and brilliant. Her
husband, with much intelligence, was diffident; his face and figure had
acquired for him the name of Goliath; he suffered for a long time the
haughtiness and the disdain of his wife and her family. At last he and
his father grew tired and took away Madame de Valentinois to Monaco. She
grieved, and her parents also, as though she had been carried off to the
Indies. After two years of absence and repentance, she promised marvels,
and was allowed to return to Paris. I know not who counselled her, but,
without changing her conduct, she thought only how to prevent a return to
Monaco; and to insure herself against this, she accused her father-in-law
of having made vile proposals to her, and of attempting to take her by
force. This charge made a most scandalous uproar, but was believed by
nobody. M. de Monaco was no longer young; he was a very honest man, and
had always passed for such; besides, he was almost blind in both eyes,
and had a huge pointed belly, which absolutely excited fear, it jutted
out so far!

After some time, as Madame de Valentinois still continued to swim in the
pleasures of the Court under the shelter of her family, her husband
redemanded her; and though he was laughed at at first, she was at last
given up to him.

A marriage took place at this time between the son of Pontchartrain and
the daughter of the Comte de Roye. The Comte de Roye was a Huguenot,
and, at the revocation of the edict of Nantes, had taken refuge, with his
wife, in Denmark, where he had been made grand marshal and commander of
all the troops. One day, as the Comte de Roye was dining with his wife
and daughter at the King's table, the Comtesse de Roye asked her daughter
if she did not think the Queen of Denmark and Madame Panache resembled