The comte de Montbarrey, whom I had known at Paris, came to me
one fine day, fully powdered, perfumed, and apparelled. He had a
smile on his lip, a loud tone, and an insolent look. He came not
to ask my friendship, but my obedience. He told me that he loved
me to distraction, and of course my head must be equally towards
him. He amused me. I let him run out the full length of his line;
and when he had spun it all out, I said to him, "Monsieur, be so
good as to call me to the recollection of madame de Merfort."

She was one of the gambling ladies, and at her house I had
formerly met the chevalier de Montbarrey. My reply confounded
him: he saw that he had gone the wrong way to work with me;
and, raising the siege, he left me excessively embarrassed.

Figure to yourself, my friend, what confidence a man, lost in the
crowd of lower courtiers, could inspire me with; for to judge of
the proceedings of the comte de Montbarrey, it would have been
necessary to have seen him as he then was, and not what he became
since the imbecility of M. de Maurepas. When I told comte Jean
of his visit, he would not believe such insolence. You must know
that my brother-in-law also wished to direct me, but I did not
consider him sufficiently clever. His marvellous genius was
eclipsed in politics. He swore at my ingratitude, and I could
only appease him by an offering of plenty of money.

In the midst of this cross-fire of intrigues, one was devised
against me which might have terminated in my ruin; but, thanks
to the indefatigable activity of comte Jean, only served to fix
me more firmly in my situation. Lebel, of whom I have said
nothing for this age, came to me one day: his face was sad, and