a chair. I
heard, moreover, that he dressed well and kept a servant. At the same
time it came to my knowledge that Gaston Cheverny was selling two of
his five horses, and did not play any more. This put the suspicion in
my mind that Gaston Cheverny was supplying Jacques Haret with money.
Whether this were true or not, I soon had a confirmation of my
surmise, that Jacques Haret possessed some species of power over
Gaston Cheverny.

Monsieur Voltaire was in Paris then for a few weeks and in a lodging
of his own, instead of being at Madame du Chatelet's house in the Isle
of St. Louis. Madame du Chatelet was at Cirey. It was understood that
one of the periodic storms had taken place at Cirey, which meant that
Monsieur Voltaire would sojourn a while _en garcon_ at Paris, until
the divine Emilie grew penitent or bored, and should send an express
for her divine Francois. The immediate cause of the present quarrel
was that Madame Riano had in Monsieur Voltaire's presence called
Madame du Chatelet a hussy, and Monsieur Voltaire had not resented it.
His excuse was that Madame Riano, having vanquished the Kings of
France, Spain and England, and the Holy Father at Rome, he, Voltaire,
had very little chance with her, and so declined to take up the gage
of battle. Madame du Chatelet had flown at him like an angry hen.
There had been words between them, and even a few dishes and a plate
or two. Hence, madame was at Cirey, monsieur at Paris.

It was much the fashion when Monsieur Voltaire was at Paris in his own
lodgings for venturesome ladies of quality, who were acknowledged, or
aspired, to be wits, to descend upon him by twos or threes, with masks
and dominos, and thereby divert both themselves and him extremely. He
was the only man in Paris to whom the ladies accorded this honor
openly. They did it not to my master, because everybody knew that
Count Saxe was too, too charming. But Monsieur Voltaire was already
losing his teeth, and looked sixty, though not yet fifty, and had
begun to give himself grandfatherly airs, whether in obedience to
Madame du Chatelet, or because he was no longer young enough to play
the gallant, I know not.

One day, about three weeks after the scene in the garden of the Hotel
Kirkpatrick, I got a note from Francezka saying that she and Madame
Villars, the one who had kissed Monsieur Voltaire publicly the year
before, wished me to escort them to his lodgings that evening for a
visit, and asking me to b