insult for insult. I saw Tomatis, who told me in confidence that he could
easily take vengeance, but that it would cost him too dear. He had spent
forty thousand ducats on the two ballets, and if he had avenged himself
he would have lost it nearly all, as he would be obliged to leave the
kingdom. The only consolation he had was that his great friends were
kinder to him than ever, and the king himself honoured him with peculiar
attention. Madame Binetti was triumphant. When I saw her she condoled
with me ironically on the mishap that had befallen my friend. She wearied
me; but I could not guess that Branicki had only acted at her
instigation, and still less that she had a grudge against me. Indeed, if
I had known it, I should only have laughed at her, for I had nothing to
dread from her bravo's dagger. I had never seen him nor spoken to him; he
could have no opportunity for attacking me. He was never with the king in
the morning and never went to the palatin's to supper, being an unpopular
character with the Polish nobility. This Branicki was said to have been
originally a Cossack, Branecki by name. He became the king's favorite and
assumed the name of Branicki, pretending to be of the same family as the
illustrious marshal of that name who was still alive; but he, far from
recognizing the pretender, ordered his shield to be broken up and buried
with him as the last of the race. However that may be, Branicki was the
tool of the Russian party, the determined enemy of those who withstood
Catherine's design of Russianising the ancient Polish constitution. The
king liked him out of habit, and because he had peculiar obligations to
him.

The life I lived was really exemplary. I indulged neither in love affairs
nor gaming. I worked for the king, hoping to become his secretary. I paid
my court to the princess-palatine, who liked my company, and I played
tressette with the palatin himself.