e told the King that he was touched
with the candour and the noble simplicity of the prelate. "I never
doubted his virtues," replied the King, "but I wish he would be quiet."
This same Archbishop gave a pension of fifty louis a year to the greatest
scoundrel in Paris. He is a poet, who writes abominable verses; this
pension is granted on condition that his poems are never printed. I
learned this fact from M. de Marigny, to whom he recited some of his
horrible verses one evening, when he supped with him, in company with
some people of quality. He chinked the money in his pocket. "This is my
good Archbishop's," said he, laughing; "I keep my word with him: my poem
will not be printed during my life, but I read it. What would the good
prelate say if he knew that I shared my last quarter's allowance with a
charming little opera-dancer? 'It is the Archbishop, then, who keeps
me,' said she to me; 'Oh, la! how droll that is!'" The King heard this,
and was much scandalised at it. "How difficult it is to do good!" said
he.

The King came into Madame de Pompadour's room, one day, as she was
finishing dressing. "I have just had a strange adventure," said he:
"would you believe that, in going out of my wardroom into my bedroom, I
met a gentleman face to face?"--"My God! Sire," cried Madame, terrified.
"It was nothing," replied he; "but I confess I was greatly surprised: the
man appeared speechless with consternation. 'What do you do here?' said
I, civilly. He threw himself on his knees, saying, 'Pardon me, Sire;
and, above all, have me searched: He instantly emptied his pockets
himself; he pulled off his coat in the greatest agitation and terror: at
last he told me that he was cook to -----, and a friend of Beccari, whom
he came to visit; that he had mistaken the staircase, and, finding all
the doors open, he had wandered into the room in which I found him, and
which he would have instantly left: I rang; Guimard came, and was
astonished enough at finding me tete-a-tete with a man in his shirt. He
begged Guimard to go with him into another room, and to search his whole
person. After this, the poor devil returned, and put on his coat.
Guimard said to me, 'He is certainly an honest man, and tells the truth;
this may, besides, be easily ascertained.' Another of the servants of
the palace came in, and happened to know him. 'I will answer for this
good man,' said, he, 'who, moreover, makes the best 'boeuf a carlate' in
the world.' As I sa