room to speak to her, and I heard the King say, "You will see that,
because the Duc du Maine, and his children, had that place, he will think
he ought to have it, on account of his rank as Prince (Soubise); but the
Marechal de Bassompierre was not a Prince; and, by the bye, the Duc de
Choiseul is his grandnephew; do you know that?"--"Your Majesty is better
acquainted with the history of France than anybody," replied Madame. Two
days after this, Madame de said to me, "I have two great delights; M. de
Soubise will not have the Swiss guards, and Madame de Marsan will be
ready to burst with rage at it; this is the first: and M. de Choiseul
will have them; this is the greatest."

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[The whole of this passage is in a different handwriting.]

There was a universal talk of a young lady with whom the King was as much
in love as it was possible for him to be. Her name was Romans. She was
said to be a charming girl. Madame de Pompadour knew of the King's
visits, and her confidantes brought her most alarming reports of the
affair. The Marechale de Mirepoix, who had the best head in Madame's
council, was the only one who encouraged her. "I do not tell you," said
she, "that he loves you better than her; and if she could be transported
hither by the stroke of a fairy's wand; if she could entertain him this
evening at supper; if she were familiar with all his tastes, there would,
perhaps, be sufficient reason for you to tremble for your power. But
Princes are, above all, pre-eminently the slaves of habit. The King's
attachment to you is like that he bears to your apartment, your
furniture. You have formed yourself to his manners and habits; you know
how to listen and reply to his stories; he is under no constraint with
you; he has no fear of boring you. How do you think he could have