After our dinner we either walked in the garden where the children
played, or went out to make visits. In the evening there were
receptions. We had one evening to which, as I said, came our poor
exiled countrymen, and there were other assemblies, to some of which
we went by invitation; but at the Hotel de Rambouillet, and one or
two others we knew we were always welcome. There we heard M.
Corneille read the Cid, on of his finest pieces, before it was put on
the stage. I cannot describe how those noble verses thrilled in our
ears and heart, how tears were shed and hands clasped, and how even
Annora let herself be carried along by the tide. Clement Darpent was
often there, and once or twice recited again, but Madame de
Rambouillet always took care first to know what he was going to say.
A poem upon St. Monica was the work of his that I liked bets, but it
was not so much admired as verses more concerned with the present.
The Prince of Conde came back to Paris for a few weeks, and my poor
Cecile was greatly disappointed that her husband remained in garrison
and did not come with him. 'But then,' as she said to console
herself, 'every month made the children prettier, and she was trying
to be a little more nice and agreeable.'
Two appointments were made for which I was less grateful than was my
mother. My little son was made one of the King's gentlemen of the
bedchamber, and Mademoiselle requested me to be one of her ladies-in-
waiting.
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