"That is what I myself wish you to do," was the reply. "I have at
least reaped one advantage from adversity; I have learnt to smile at
all these vanities. I assure you that I value myself more upon
being a man, than having been born a prince."

We were in the habit of conversing together both night and morning,
for a considerable time; and, in spite of what I considered the
comic part of his character, he appeared to be of a good
disposition, frank, affable, and interested in the virtue and
happiness of mankind. More than once I was on the point of saying,
"Pardon me; I wish I could believe you were Louis XVII., but I
frankly confess I cannot prevail on myself to believe it; be equally
sincere, I entreat you, and renounce this singular fiction of
yours." I had even prepared to introduce the subject with an
edifying discourse upon the vanity of all imposture, even of such
untruths as may appear in themselves harmless.

I put off my purpose from day to day; I partly expected that we
should grow still more friendly and confidential, but I had never
the heart really to try the experiment upon his feelings. When I
reflect upon this want of resolution, I sometimes attempt to
reconcile myself to it on the ground of proper urbanity,
unwillingness to give offence, and other reasons of the kind. Still
these excuses are far from satisfying me; I cannot disguise that I
ought not to have permitted my dislike to preaching him a sermon to
stand in the way of speaking my real sentiments. To affect to give
credit to imposture of any kind is miserable weakness, such as I
think I should not, even in similar circumstances, exhibit again.
At the same time, it must be confessed that, preface it as you will,