wherever he stopped, that at last the superiors thought it best to let
him live as he liked in a curacy of his brother's. He never ceased
troubling La Trappe, to which he wished to return; so that at last I
obtained a 'lettre de cachet', which prohibited him from approaching
within thirty leagues of the abbey, and within twenty of Paris. It was I
who made known to him that his abominations had been discovered. He was
in no way disturbed, declared he was glad to be free, and assured me with
the hypocrisy which never left him, that in his solitude he was going to
occupy himself in studying the Holy Scriptures.

Bonnceil, introducer of the ambassadors, being dead, Breteuil obtained
his post. Breteuil was not without intellect, but aped courtly manners,
called himself Baron de Breteuil, and was much tormented and laughed at
by his friends. One day, dining at the house of Madame de Pontchartrain,
and, speaking very authoritatively, Madame de Pontchartrain disputed with
him, and, to test his knowledge, offered to make a bet that he did not
know who wrote the Lord's Prayer. He defended himself as well as he was
able, and succeeded in leaving the table without being called upon to
decide the point. Caumartin, who saw his embarrassment, ran to him, and
kindly whispered in his ear that Moses was the author of the Lord's
Prayer. Thus strengthened, Breteuil returned to the attack, brought,
while taking coffee, the conversation back again to the bet; and, after
reproaching Madame de Pontchartrain for supposing him ignorant upon such
a point, and declaring he was ashamed of being obliged to say such a
trivial thing, pronounced emphatically that it was Moses who had written
the Lord's Prayer. The burst of laughter that, of course, followed this,
overwhelmed him with confusion. Poor Breteuil was for a long time at
loggerheads with his friend, and the Lord's Prayer became a standing
reproach to him.

He had a friend, the Marquis de Gesvres, who, upon some points, was not
much better informed. Talking one day in the cabinet of the King, and
admiring in the tone of a connoisseur some fine paintings of the
Crucifixion by the first masters, he remarked that they were all by one
hand.

He was laughed at, and the different painters were named, as recognized
by their style.

"Not at all," said the Marquis, "the painter is called INRI; do you not
see his name upon all the pictures?" What followed after such gross
stupidity and ignorance may