tle is now Earl
of Lismore. You know he was an adherent of the Pretender's. I left Paris
with him, well enough pleased at being able to come to Rome without its
costing me anything."

"Then the earl is a rich man now?"

"Not exactly; but he will be, as he is his father's heir, and the old
earl left an immense fortune. It is true that it is all confiscated, but
that is nothing, as his claims are irresistible."

"In short, he is rich in claims and rich in the future; but how did he
get himself made a knight of one of the French king's orders?"

"You're joking. That is the blue ribbon of the Order of St. Michael, of
which the late Elector of Cologne was grand master. As you know, my lord
plays exquisitely on the violin, and when he was at Bonn he played the
Elector a concerto by Tartini. The prince could not find words in which
to express the pleasure of my lord's performance, and gave him the ribbon
you have seen."

"A fine present, doubtless."

"You don't know what pleasure it gave my lord, for when we go back to
Paris everybody will take it for the Order of the Holy Ghost."

We passed into a large room, where we found the earl with the party he
had asked to supper. As soon as he saw me he embraced me, called me his
dear friend, and named his guests. There were seven or eight girls, all
of them pretty, three or four castrati who played women's parts in the
Roman theatre, and five or six abbes, the husband of every wife and the
wives of every husband, who boasted of their wickedness, and challenged
the girls to be more shameless than they. The girls were not common
courtezans, but past mistresses of music, painting, and vice considered
as a fine art. The kind of society may be imagined when I say that I
found myself a perfect novice amongst them.

"Where are you going, prince?" said the earl to a respectable-looking man
who was making for the door.

"I don't feel well, my lord. I think I must go out."

"What prince is that?" said I.

"The Prince de Chimai. He is a sub-deacon, and is endeavouring to gain
permission to marry, lest his family should become extinct."

"I admire his prudence or his delicacy, but I am afraid I should not
imitate him."

There were twenty-four of us at table, and it is no exaggeration to say
that we emptied a hundred bottles of the choicest wines. Everybody was
drunk, with the exception of myself and the poet Poinsinet, who had taken
nothing but water. The company rose from table,