erly mistress wanted to become his wife, but that he would not hear of
it, though she offered to endow him with all her worldly goods. I told
him that if he gave in he might pay his debts, return to Trevisa, and
live pleasantly there; but his destiny would not allow him to take my
advice.

I had resolved on taking a country house, and fixed on one called "Little
Poland," which pleased me better than all the others I had seen. It was
well furnished, and was a hundred paces distant from the Madeleine Gate.
It was situated on slightly elevated ground near the royal park, behind
the Duc de Grammont's garden, and its owner had given it the name of
"Pleasant Warsaw." It had two gardens, one of which was on a level with
the first floor, three reception rooms, large stables, coach houses,
baths, a good cellar, and a splendid kitchen. The master was called "The
Butter King," and always wrote himself down so; the name had been given
to him by Louis XV. on the monarch's stopping at the house and liking the
butter. The "Butter King" let me his house for a hundred Louis per annum,
and he gave me an excellent cook called "The Pearl," a true blue-ribbon
of the order of cooks, and to her he gave charge of all his furniture and
the plate I should want for a dinner of six persons, engaging to get me
as much plate as I wanted at the hire of a sous an ounce. He also
promised to let me have what wine I wanted, and said all he had was of
the best, and, moreover, cheaper than I could get it at Paris, as he had
no gate-money to pay on it.

Matters having been arranged on these terms, in the course of a week I
got a good coachman, two fine carriages, five horses, a groom, and two
footmen. Madame d'Urfe, who was my first guest, was delighted with my new
abode, and as she imagined that I had done it all for her, I left her in
that flattering opinion. I never could believe in the morality of
snatching from poor mortal man the delusions which make them happy. I
also let her retain the notion that young d'Aranda, the count of her own
making, was a scion of the nobility, that he was born for a mysterious
operation unknown to the rest of mankind, that I was only his caretaker
(here I spoke the truth), and that he must die and yet not cease to live.
All these whimsical ideas were the products of her brain, which was only
occupied with the impossible, and I thought the best thing I could do was
to agree with everything. If I had tried to undeceive her,