appear quickly."

On hearing an order given in this manner a stranger might have supposed
the king crazy, and not intent on imprisoning a miserable libeller. I
interceded in his favor, but Louis XV, delighted at an opportunity
of playing the king at a small cost, told me that it was no person's
business, and he would be dictated to by no one. I was silent, reserving
myself until another opportunity when I could undertake the defence of
the poor devil.

The duc de la Vrilliere arrived, not in a dressing-gown, as the king
had authorized, but in magnificent costume. He piqued himself on his
expenditure, and always appeared superbly attired, altho' the splendor
of his apparel could not conceal the meanness of his look. He was the
oldest secretary of state, and certainly was the least skilful, least
esteemed, least considered. Some time after his death some one said of
him in the presence of the duc d'Ayen, that he had been an unfortunate
man, for he had been all his life the butt of public hatred and
universal contempt. "Rather say," replied the duke, "that he has been a
fortunate man; for if justice had been rendered to him according to his
deserts, he would have been hanged at least a dozen times."

The duc d'Ayen was right: M. de la Vrilliere was a brazen-faced rogue;
a complete thief, without dignity, character, or heart. His cupidity
was boundless: the _lettres de cachet_ emanated from his office, and he
carried on an execrable trade in them. If any person wished to get rid
of a father, brother, or husband, they only had to apply to M. de la
Vrilliere. He sold the king's signature to all who paid ready money for
it. This man inspired me with an invincible horror and repugnance. For
his part, as I was not disgusting, he contented himself with hating me;
he was animated against me by his old and avaricious mistress, madame
de Langeac, alias Subutin. Langeac could not endure me. She felt that
it was better to be the mistress of Louis XV than that of the _petit la
Vrilliere _, for so her lover was called at court. I knew that she was
no friend of mine, and that her lover sided with the Choiseuls against
me; and was consequently the more delighted to see the little scoundrel
come to receive the order for avenging me. He entered with an air of
embarrassment; and whilst he made me a salute as low as to the king,
this latter, in a brief severe tone, ordered him to send the sieur
Ledoux to Saint Lazare forthwith. He departed