and respect for his mother, whom he accompanied, no less than his unaffected piety, had won her esteem and regard, even before his name was proposed to her as one among several candidates for her hand. As soon as her aunt mentioned the name of M. de Miramion, her deep colour showed Madame Bonneau that this would be the husband of her choice. There were no opposing circumstances, and as all the arrangements were then carried out by the heads of the families concerned, Marie de Rubelle was married in 1645 to Jean-Jacques Beauharnais de Miramion, one of whose ancestors had been a witness in the justification of Joan of Arc. The marriage was a Christian one, and extremely happy, and Marie's first request to her husband was that he would allow her to carry on the religious habits of her early life, in which, no doubt, her penances were included. She spoke so simply and wisely at the same time, showing such a pure and noble character, that he was more delighted with her than ever, and promised of his own accord not only that she should do as she pleased, but that he would take care not to grieve or offend her by any practices of his own-a rare promise in that day, and most faithfully kept. But the bitterness clinging to all changes had to be tasted, and with many tears Marie bade good-bye for a while to her brothers, and went home with her husband to his grandfather's hotel, a magnificent family abode, where the stately old M. de Choisy, the friend and adviser of Louis XIII. and Henri Quatre, lived with his wife and his two widowed daughters in great union, which was in nowise lessened by the addition of his grandson and Marie. The whole of this patriarchal family, in fact, vied with each other in welcoming Madame de Miramion the younger among them. For many weeks there was nothing but assemblies, suppers, and "receptions," among which a detailed account is given of a grand breakfast party in the Luxembourg Palace, given by the Countess de Choisy.

This remarkable woman, M. de Miramion's aunt, reigned then like a Queen over the great world in Paris. Her husband being Chancellor to the Duke of Orleans, the young King's uncle, Madame de Choisy presided at all the State balls and festivities given to please Louis XIV., and even trained him in all those habits of brilliant conversation and repartee which were indispensable in good society. It was currently reported that she told the King he would never become a man of the world unless he came to talk with her for an hour every day, which he did. In her rooms Cinna was first read by Corneille, and the more questionable Maxims of Love by Bussy Rabutin. She maintained

an active correspondence with foreigners of celebrity, and drew round her the very cream of refined French society. Again, therefore, and this time with more seductive force, was Marie de Miramion drawn into the whirling circle of the enchantress world, where her beauty, apt conversation, and graceful position as a wealthy bride of sixteen, might have won for her a splendid position, and where her name might have been handed down as one of the celebrities of the most brilliant Court in the world's story. But again the whispers of grace were obeyed, and with that decisive but gentle firmness which was her marked characteristic, this charming young wife won her husband from the giddy throng, and proved to him how far more delightful was the happiness of a well-regulated and loving home. Without severity or affected singularity she declined cards, balls, and plays; and at the expense of a nine-days' outcry of dismay and amazement on the part of her "friends,” she laid out the plan of a useful and occupied life, and by her winning and playful ways, and the secret attraction of her constant prayers, she prevailed on her husband to lead a sincere and practical Catholic life. Marie, in fact, was so bright and charming in her thorough happiness and peace of mind, so pleasant and gay with her husband's family, so busy, flitting here and there about her household duties, so watchful over the comfort of every one with whom she had to do, that it was impossible to wish for balls, and theatricals, noisy dissipation, and the empty hours of talk for talking's sake. M. de Miramion followed her example in every point, and it was well for him that he did so. Six months-six little months of the greatest earthly happiness-were granted to these two, as a foretaste of the joys eternal, as a reward for serving God in their youth, as a preparation for the parting now to come. At the end of that time M. de Miramion was seized with fever, which developed disease of the lungs, and it became certain that he must die. In the agony the hour, Marie's sole consolation was to see how thoroughly her dear husband was prepared. He met death-coming so cruelly, so unlooked for, in the very height of their love and happiness with heroic courage, and receiving the last Sacraments with fervent joy, expired in his wife's arms. She then fell lifeless on the bed, and remained unconscious for several hours, and when, at length, she had come to herself, grief seemed to have deprived her of reason, and her only desire was to follow the husband whose existence seemed to have engulfed and swallowed up her own. The last resource of her mother-in-law-" Drink this for your child's sake," was the only inducement which reached her

of

reason; from that moment duty regained its power, and though mechanically and like a corpse, Marie did exactly as she was told.

Nature, however, could not but suffer in every way at the dreadful trial and shock she had sustained, and until her child was born, Madame de Miramion spent her time in great suffering and in bed. At length, after making a special offering to our Lady that the child might live to be baptised, her little girl was born, and when it was placed in her arms, and she saw its extraordinary likeness to her husband, the tears which rushed to her eyes and streamed down her cheeks probably saved both her life and her reason. She was now a widow and a mother at a little over sixteen, and, living only for the frail delicate little girl, she spent the next two years of her life in the strictest seclusion, dressed in the austere weeds which were indispensable at that day. At the end of the two years Marie had the small-pox, then the dreaded scourge of all pretty women, but although she lost her bright complexion, her eyes were untouched and her face was without the least mark of the disease. She rather rejoiced over her loss of colour, saying that she hoped people would not now care to see her in the great world. This was a vain hope; Madame de Miramion seemed to attract more suitors than Mdlle. de Rubelle, and one day, when Madame Cornuel met her in a morning call in Madame de Choisy's salon, she exclaimed-" If this splendid statue would but show what she has in her, the whole Court would be put to rout!" Her own family, even her husband's relations, fearing that she should again wish to go into a convent, pressed Madame Miramion to marry again, and although she constantly refused, and was grieved at the attachments which it seemed her lot to create, she only begged for time. During that time she redoubled her prayers and offerings of herself to know and to do God's will.

When Marie had been two years a widow, the stormy civil war of the Fronde broke out in full fury, threatening the same measure of Parliamentary success as that which dethroned and executed our own Charles I. "The good Regent," as Anne of Austria had first been called, had given up her authority too entirely into Cardinal's Mazarin's hands, who had neither the consummate powers nor integrity of Richelieu, and who incurred the odium of the people, as every one knows, by the most arbitrary and vexatious system of taxation. The Parliament of Paris resisted these taxes, and all who upheld the Parliament formed the formidable league which afterwards took possession of Paris,

and seemed to verge towards completely extinguishing the monarchy.

M. de Choisy, as well as most of his friends and relations, were on the Parliament side, and he retired from Court and went to live at his country house at Issy, a charming valley of the Seine, where Marie felt happier than she had done since her husband's death. Still chiefly occupied with prayer and her child, she also began to employ herself more actively, and was often found among the poor, especially those who were sick, or had diseases which drove other nurses from them. One of these, a poor scrofulous girl, she actually nursed and cleansed into health; and when she was cured, she gave her a suitable dowry and enabled her to become a Nun. Madame de Miramion had not been long at Issy when she resolved to fulfil a vow of pilgrimage to Mont Valérien, and in consequence of this expedition the strangest event of her life occurred; for although she was properly accompanied by her mother-in-law, a companion, and what was called a "squire," with a footman and four mounted servants outside, the carriage was surrounded, the servants overpowered or bought off, and poor Madame de Miramion was carried away, first through the Bois de Boulogne and the forest of Livry-where the elder Madame de Miramion, with the poor companion and "squire," were forced out of the carriage and most inhumanly left behindto the Chateau de Launay, where the carriage rattled over the drawbridge, the horses were taken out, and Madame de Miramion, a complete prisoner, was urged most respectfully to alight and go into the chateau. Positively refusing to leave the carriage, Madame de Miramion demanded who had been so wicked as to commit this outrage, and then learnt for the first time that it was the world-famous Count de Bussy Rabutin, who had gained the aid of his friends and retainers by assuring them that the attempt was made with her full knowledge and consent, that her family might not oppose their marriage. After a long parley, both with his brother and Bussy Rabutin himself, during which Madame de Miramion preserved the most wonderful dignity and presence of mind, she was allowed to leave the chateau, and was even escorted respectfully to Sens, where she found the whole town in commotion at the news that the widow of a State Councillor had been carried off by force by some great lord. Poor Marie had just strength to say that she was the lady, and then, fainting and half-dead with the terror and dread she had gone through, took to her bed, where her brother soon after found her. Having learnt from her the chief particulars of the

extraordinary outrage, M. de Rubelle gathered together his friends and followers, and flew to besiege the Chateau de Launay. But they found it empty: Bussy and his train had wisely retired to a distant spot. The result of this wild and lawless attempt was that Madame de Miramion was seized with brain fever, her life was despaired of, and the last Sacraments were administered; but she was restored to health a second time, for future suffering and service to God. Her own simple account of the matter is the best, for she was far removed from that morbid imagination which creates and keeps up the excitement of being always its own heroine. "After I had been carried away," she says, "I was sick to death, and received Extreme Unction. But God allowed my cure. Then I prosecuted M. de Bussy for two years, after which I forgave him before God." In fact, in spite of all her family could urge, Marie positively refused to be put upon oath or to allow her deposition to be taken; and as the Prince de Condé wrote himself to beg pardon for Bussy Rabutin, and it was also taken into consideration that by his extraordinary valour at the battle of Lens-for which a solemn Te Deum was sung in Notre Dame-Bussy had saved France for the second time, the proceedings-at-law were withdrawn. Still, as the Great Condé and Bussy were on the King's, and the families of Bonneau and Miramion on the Parliament side, a continual feud was kept up, which was only quenched when, in one of the Fronde raids, Bussy generously saved the Chateau de Rubelle from burning and pillage. In another point this man of abandoned and licentious life evinced a certain sense of honour and good faith, which showed that virtue had its influence upon him. At the Chateau de Launay he had promised Marie never to come into her presence again, and he kept his word to the letter-they never saw one another's faces again. After her recovery, feeling herself still much shaken, and longing for more leisure for prayer and reflection as to her future life, Madame de Miramion went for a time to the Visitation Convent in the Rue St. Antoine, where the poor, weak Louis XIII. used to visit the admirable Mademoiselle Lafayette at the grating, begging her advice and prayers for the cure of that attachment which he was never able to overcome. In this place of rest and retirement we must leave her, though with reluctance, for a while.