179.]--yes, that thin long Gentleman, with high red-heeled shoes, and the daintiest polite attitudes and paces; in superfine coat, laced hat under arm; nose and under-lip ever more like coalescing (owing to decay of teeth), but two eyes shining on you like carbuncles; and in the ringing voice, such touches of speech when you apply for it! Thus they at Sceaux and elsewhere; walking their Life-minuet, making their entrances and exits.
One thing is lamentable: the relation with Madame is not now a flourishing one, or capable again of being: "Does not love me as he did, the wretch!" thinks Madame always;--yet sticks by him, were it but in the form of blister.

They had been to Luneville, Spring, 1747; happy dull place, within reach of Cirey; far from Versailles and its cabals.
They went again, 1748, in a kind of permanent way; Titular Stanislaus, an opulent dawdling creature, much liking to have them; and Father Menou, his Jesuit,--who is always in quarrel with the Titular Mistress,--thinking to displace HER (as you, gradually discover), and promote the Du Chatelet to that improper dignity! In which he had not the least success, says Voltaire; but got "two women on his ears instead of one." It was not to be Stanislaus's mistress; nor a TITULAR one at all, but a real, that Madame was fated in this dull happy place! Idle readers know the story only too well;--concerning which, admit this other Fraction and no more:-- "Stanislaus, as a Titular King, cannot do without some kind of Titular Army,--were it only to blare about as Life-guard, and beat kettle-drums on occasion.

A certain tall high-sniffing M.de St.Lambert, a young Lorrainer of long pedigree and light purse, had just taken refuge in this Life-guard [Summer 1748, or so], I know not whether as Captain or Lieutenant, just come from the Netherlands Wars: of grave stiff manners; for the rest, a good-looking young fellow; thought to have some poetic genius, even;--who is precious, surely, in such an out-of-the-way place.

Welcome to Voltaire, to Madame still more.

Alas, readers know the History,--on which we must not dwell.