kept over a young girl of whom he, the duc de Duras, was foolishly
enamoured. Trembling for his M. de Sartines, he
wrote to him in haste, but had not courage or talent enough to
undertake the defence of the guilty person.

The king came as usual; his general station was at the chimney-piece,
where he amused himself with looking at the baubles that ornamented
it. The "" fell in his way. He read them
once, then again; then, without uttering a word, threw them into
the fire. I observed him, and saw that he was full of emotion
which he sought to conceal, but the anger burst forth soon. The
prince de Soubise, who supped with us that evening, asked the duc
de Duras if he had read the ""

"No," was the reply; "I seldom read such nonsense."

"And you are quite right," said the king. "There is at present a
most inconceivable mania for writing. What is the use, I ask you,
gentlemen, of this deluge of books and pamphlets with which
France is inundated? They only contain the spirit of rebellion:
the freedom of writing ought not to be given to every body.
There should be in a well-regulated state seven or eight writers,
not more; and these under the inspection of government. Authors
are the plague of France; you will see whither they will lead it."

The king spoke this with an animated air, and if at this moment
M. de la Vrilliere had come to ask for a
against a writer, the king would not have refused it.

"Besides," added the king, in a tone of less anger, but no less