At forty, she was still the wealthiest unmarried princess in Europe;
fastidious in toilette, stainless in reputation, not lovely in temper,
rigid in etiquette, learned in precedence, an oracle in court traditions,
a terror to the young maids-of-honor, and always quarrelling with her own
sisters, younger, fairer, poorer than herself. Her mind and will were as
active as in her girlhood, but they ground chaff instead of wheat. Whether
her sisters should dine at the Queen's table, when she never had; who
should be her trainbearer at the royal marriage; whether the royal Spanish
father-in-law, on the same occasion, should or should not salute the
Queen-mother; who, on any given occasion, should have a _tabouret_, who a
_pliant_, who a chair, who an arm-chair; who should enter the King's
_ruelle_, or her own, or pass out by the private stairway; how she should
arrange the duchesses at state-funerals: these were the things which tried
Mademoiselle's soul, and these fill the later volumes of that
autobiography whose earlier record was all a battle and a march. From
Conde's "Obey Mademoiselle's orders as my own," we come down to this: "For
my part, I had been worrying myself all day; having been told that the new
Queen would not salute me on the lips, and that the King had decided to
sustain her in this position.
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