like a spider, in the centre of an inexplicable net--inexplicable as
well as dangerous--to all but the weaver? That, my son, is the art of
politics; that is to be a diplomatist!"

"Perhaps, to one less penetrating than Madame de Balzac," answered I, "I
might, upon trial, not appear utterly ignorant of the noble art of state
duplicity which she has so eloquently depicted."

"Possibly!" said the good lady; "it must indeed be a profound
dissimulator to deceive /me/."

"But what would you advise me to do in the present crisis? What party
to adopt, what individual to flatter?"

Nothing, I already discovered and have already observed, did the
inestimable Madame de Balzac dislike more than a downright question: she
never answered it.

"Why, really," said she, preparing herself for a long speech, "I am
quite glad you consult me, and I will give you the best advice in my
power. /Ecoutez donc/; you have seen the Duc de Maine?"

"Certainly!"

"Hum! ha! it would be wise to follow him; but--you take me--you
understand. Then, you know, my son, there is the Duc d'Orleans, fond of
pleasure, full of talent; but you know--there is a little--what do you
call it? you understand. As for the Duc de Bourbon, 'tis quite a
simpleton; nevertheless we must consider: nothing like consideration;
believe me, no diplomatist ever hurries. As for Madame de Maintenon,