proportion. In spite of the disadvantage which such a theme imposes on
any writer with a deep sense of responsibility, we have resolved to let
in some light on these obscure figures; for we can imagine no more
effective way of throwing into high relief the low morals and deep
corruption into which all classes of society had sunk at the termination
of the factious dissensions of the Fronde, which formed such a fitting
prelude to the licence of the reign of the grand roi.

After this explanation, we shall, without further preamble, introduce the
reader to a little tavern in Paris, situated in the rue
Saint-Andre-des-Arts, on an evening in November 1658.

It was about seven o'clock. Three gentlemen were seated at one of the
tables in a low, smoky room. They had already emptied several bottles,
and one of them seemed to have just suggested some madcap scheme to the
others, the thought of which sent them off into shouts of laughter.

"Pardu!" said one of them, who was the first to recover his breath, "I
must say it would be an excellent trick."

"Splendid!" said another; "and if you like, Commander de Jars, we can try
it this very evening."

"All right, my worthy king's treasurer, provided my pretty nephew here
won't be too much shocked," and as he spoke de Jars gave to the youngest
of the three a caressing touch on the cheek with the back of his hand.

"That reminds me, de Jars!" said the treasurer, "that word you have just
said piques my curiosity. For some months now this little fellow here,
Chevalier de Moranges, follows you about everywhere like your shadow.