"
"What were you saying of him?" asked I.
"Why, my dear, I happened to be at the house of madame de
Luxembourg, where I met with the comtesse
de Boufflers."
"Yes, I remember," said I, "the former of these ladies was the
particular friend of Jean Jacques Rousseau."
"And the second also," answered she; "and I can promise you, that
neither the one or the other spoke too well of him."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed I, with a warmth I could not repress.
"The duchess," resumed madame de Mirepoix, "says he is an ill-bred
and ungrateful man, and the countess insists upon it he is a
downright pedant."
'Shameful, indeed," cried I; "but can you, my dear friend,
account for the ill-nature with which these ladies speak of
poor Rousseau?"
"Oh! Yes," replied the marechale, "their motives are
easily explained, and I will tell you a little secret, for
the truth of which I can vouch. Madame de Luxembourg had at
one time conceived the most lively passion for Jean Jacques."
"Indeed!" cried I; "and he--"
"Did not return it. As for madame de Bouffiers, the case was
exactly reversed; and Rousseau has excited her resentment by
daring long to nurse a hopeless flame, of which she was the
object: this presumption on the part of the poet our dignified
countess could never pardon. However, I entreat of you not to
repeat this; remember, I tell you in strictest secrecy.
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