"Ah, I know the fellow. His bad reputation has reached me. It
must be stopped at last."

So saying, Louis XV went to the chimney, and pulled the bell-rope
with so much vehemence that ten persons answered it at once.

"Send for the duc de la Vrilliere; if he be not suitably attired let
him come in his night-gown, no matter so that he appear quickly."

On hearing an order given in this manner a stranger might have
supposed the king crazy, and not intent on imprisoning a miserable
libeller. I interceded in his favor, but Louis XV, delighted at an
opportunity of playing the king at a small cost, told me that it
was no person's business, and he would be dictated to by no one.
I was silent, reserving myself until another opportunity when I
could undertake the defence of the poor devil.

The duc de la Vrilliere arrived, not in a dressing-gown, as the
king had authorized, but in magnificent costume. He piqued himself
on his expenditure, and always appeared superbly attired, altho'
the splendor of his apparel could not conceal the meanness of his
look. He was the oldest secretary of state, and certainly was the
least skilful, least esteemed, least considered. Some time after
his death some one said of him in the presence of the duc d'Ayen,
that he had been an unfortunate man, for he had been all his life
the butt of public hatred and universal contempt. "Rather say,"
replied the duke, "that he has been a fortunate man; for if justice
had been rendered to him according to his deserts, he would have
been hanged at least a dozen times."