The Memoirs of Madame de Montespan, vol 4 | Page 5

trouble,
who soon sent the lady a handsome sweetmeat-box ornamented with
his crest and his portrait.
At the sight of this, Clorinde became like another woman. She had her
hair dressed and put on a smart gown, to show the portrait how deeply
enamoured she was of the original.
"Monsieur," she said to her husband, "I am the only daughter of a
wealthy man, who, when he gave me to a magistrate older than himself,
did not intend to sacrifice me. You have been young, no doubt, and you,
therefore, ought to know how revolting to youth, all freshness and
perfume, are the cuddlings and caresses of decrepitude. As yet I do not
detest you, but it is absolutely impossible to love you. On the contrary,
I am in love with Melladoro; perhaps in your day you were as attractive
as he is, and knew how to make the most of what you then possessed.
Now, will you please me by going back to Paris? I shall be ever so
grateful to you if you will. Or must you spend the autumn in this
gloomy abode of your ancestors? To show myself obedient, I will
consent; only in this case you must send your secretary to the Spanish
Legation, and your coach-and-six, to bring Melladoro here without
delay."
At this speech M. de Nesmond could no longer hide his disgust, but
frankly refused to entertain such a proposal for one moment.
Whereupon, his wife gave way to violent grief. She could neither eat
nor sleep, and being already in a weakly state, soon developed
symptoms which frightened her doctors.
M. de Nesmond was frightened too, and at length sent his rival a polite
and pressing invitation to come and stay at the chateau.
This state of affairs went on for six whole years, during which time
Madame de Nesmond lavished upon her comely paramour all the
wealth amassed by her frugal, orderly spouse.
At last the President could stand it no longer, but went and made a
bitter complaint to the King. His Majesty at once asked the Spanish
Ambassador to have Melladoro recalled.
At this news, Clorinde was seized with violent convulsions; so severe,
indeed, was this attack, that her wretched husband at once sought to
have the order rescinded. But as it transpired, the King's wish had been

instantly complied with, and the unwelcome news had to be told to
Clorinde.
"If you love me," quoth she to her husband, "then grant me this last
favour, after which, I swear it, Clorinde will never make further appeal
to your kind-heartedness. However quick they have been, my young
friend cannot yet have reached the coast. Let me have sight of him once
more; let me give him a lock of my hair, a few loving words of advice,
and one last kiss before he is lost to me forever."
So fervent was her pleading and so profuse her tears, that M. de
Nesmond consented to do all. His coach-and-six was got ready there
and then. An hour before sunset the belfries of Havre came in sight, and
as it was high tide, they drove right up to the harbour wharf.
The ship had just loosed her moorings, and was gliding out to sea.
Clorinde could recognise Melladoro standing amid the passengers on
deck. Half fainting, she stretched out her arms and called him in a
piteous voice. Blushing, he sought to hide behind his companions, who
all begged him to show himself. By means of a wherry Clorinde soon
reached the frigate, and the good-natured sailors helped her to climb up
the side of the vessel. But in her agitation and bewilderment her foot
slipped, and she fell into the sea, whence she was soon rescued by
several of the pluckiest of the crew.
As she was being removed to her carriage, the vessel sailed out of
harbour. M. de Nesmond took a large house at Havre, in order to nurse
her with greater convenience, and had to stop there for a whole month,
his wife being at length brought back on a litter to Paris.
Her convalescence was but an illusion after all. Hardly had she reached
home when fatal symptoms appeared; she felt that she must die, but
showed little concern thereat. The portrait of the handsome Spaniard
lay close beside her on her couch. She smiled at it, besought it to have
pity on her loneliness, or scolded it bitterly for indifference, and for
going away.
A short time before her death, she sent for her husband and her father,
to whom she entrusted the care of her three children.
"Monsieur," said she to the President de Nesmond, "be kind to my son;
he has a right to your name and arms, and though he is my