words resound from one
extremity of Europe to another, and whom the Choiseuls believe their own
entirely."

"It is M. de Voltaire," I said.

"Exactly so: your perspicacity has made you guess it."

"But what does he want with me?"

"To be at peace with you; to range himself under your banner, secretly
at first, but afterwards openly."

"Is he then afraid openly to evince himself my friend?" I replied, in a
tone of some pique.

"Rather so, and yet you must not feel offended at that. The situation
of this sarcastic and talented old man is very peculiar; his unquiet
petulance incessantly gives birth to fresh perils. He, of necessity,
must make friends in every quarter, left and right, in France and
foreign countries. The necessary consequence is, that he cannot follow
a straight path. The Choiseuls have served him with perfect zeal: do not
be astonished if he abandon them when they can no longer serve him. If
they fall, he will bid them good evening, and will sport your cockade
openly."

"But," I replied, "this is a villainous character."

"Ah, I do not pretend to introduce to you an Aristides or an
Epaminondas, or any other soul of similar stamp. He is a man of letters,
full of wit, a deep thinker, a superior genius, and our reputations are
in his hands. If he flatters us, posterity will know it; if he laugh at
us, it will know it also. I counsel you therefore to use him well, if
you would have him behave so towards you."

"I will act conformably to your advice," said I to the marechal; "at the
same time I own to you that I fear him like a firebrand."

"I, like you, think that there is in him something of the infernal
stone: he burns you on the slightest touch. But now, to this letter; you
will see what he says to you. He begs me most particularly to conceal
from every body the step he has taken with you. What he most dreads is,
lest you should proclaim from the housetops that he is in correspondence
with you. I conjure you, on his behalf, to exercise the greatest
discretion, and I think that you are interested in doing so; for, if
what he has done should be made public, he will not fail to exercise
upon you the virulence of his biting wit."

Our conversation was interrupted by a stir which we heard in the
chateau, and which announced to us the king. The marechal hastily
desired me not to show Voltaire's letter to the king until I had read
it previously to myself. "He does not like this extraordinary man,"