en you back this morning to her service. You depend for the future on
nobody but Madame de Montespan, and it is her alone that you are bound to
obey. Your service in her house has commenced this morning; it will
finish this evening, and, before midnight, you will leave her for good
and all. I have known on all occasions how to pardon slight offences;
there are some that a person of my rank could not excuse; yours is of
that number. Go; make no answer! Obey, ingrate! Disappear, I command
you!"

At these words he tried to throw himself at my feet. "Go, wretched
fellow!" I cried to him; and, at my voice, my lackeys ran up and drove
him from the room and from the chateau.

Almost always these bad-natured folks have cowardly souls. Adrien, his
head in a whirl, presented himself to my Suisse at Versailles, who,
finding his look somewhat sinister, refused to receive him. He retired
to my hotel in Paris, where the Suisse, being less of a physiognomist,
delivered him the key of his old room, and was willing to allow him to
pass the night there.

Adrien, thinking of naught but how to harm me and give me a memorable
proof of his vengeance, ran and set fire to my two storehouses, and, to
put a crown on his rancour, went and hanged himself in an attic.

About two o'clock in the morning, a sick-nurse, having perceived the
flames, gave loud cries and succeeded in making herself heard. Public
help arrived; the fire was mastered. My Suisse sought everywhere for the
Italian, whom he thought to be in danger; he stumbled against his corpse.
What a scene! What an affliction! The commissary having had his room
opened, on a small bureau a letter was found which he had been at the
pains of writing, and in which he accused me of his despair and death.

The people of Paris have been at all times extravagance and credulity
itself. They looked upon this young villain as a martyr, and at once
dedicated an elegy to him, in which I was compared with Medea, Circe, and
Fredegonde.

It is precisely on account of this elegy that I have cared to set down
this cruel anecdote. My readers, to whom I have just narrated the facts
with entire frankness, can see well that, instead of having merited
reproaches, I should only have received praise for my restraint and
moderation.

It is, assuredly, most painful to have to suffer the abuse of those for
whom we have never done aught; but the outrages of those whom we have
succoured, maintained,