so it is with these men, who assume an acquaintance on nothing, whose
embraces we are obliged to endure when we meet them, and who are so
familiar with us as to thou and thee us. He began by asking me a hundred
frivolous questions, raising his voice higher than the actors.
Everyone was cursing him; and in order to check him I said, "I should
like to listen to the play." "Hast thou not seen it, Marquis? Oh, on my
soul, I think it very funny, and I am no fool in these matters. I know
the canons of perfection, and Corneille reads to me all that he writes."
Thereupon he gave me a summary of the piece, informing me scene after
scene of what was about to happen; and when we came to any lines which
he knew by heart, he recited them aloud before the actor could say them.
It was in vain for me to resist; he continued his recitations, and
towards the end rose a good while before the rest. For these fashionable
fellows, in order to behave gallantly, especially avoid listening to the
conclusion. I thanked Heaven, and naturally thought that, with the
comedy, my misery was ended. But as though this were too good to be
expected, my gentleman fastened on me again, recounted his exploits, his
uncommon virtues, spoke of his horses, of his love-affairs, of his
influence at court, and heartily offered me his services. I politely
bowed my thanks, all the time devising some way of escape. But he,
seeing me eager to depart, said, "Let us leave; everyone is gone." And
when we were outside, he prevented my going away, by saying, "Marquis,
let us go to the Cours to show my carriage."

[Footnote: The Cours is that part of the Champs-Elysees called _le
Cours-la-Reine_; because Maria de Medici, the wife of Henry IV., had
trees planted there. As the theatre finished about seven o'clock in the
evening, it was not too late to show a carriage.]

"It is very well built, and more than one Duke and Peer has ordered a