have seen the Duc de Maine?"

"Certainly!"

"Hum! ha! it would be wise to follow him; but--you take me--you
understand. Then, you know, my son, there is the Duc d'Orleans, fond of
pleasure, full of talent; but you know--there is a little--what do
you call it? you understand. As for the Duc de Bourbon, 'tis quite a
simpleton; nevertheless we must consider: nothing like consideration;
believe me, no diplomatist ever hurries. As for Madame de Maintenon, you
know, and I know too, that the Duchesse d'Orleans calls her an old
hag; but then--a word to the wise--eh?--what shall we say to Madame the
Duchess herself?--what a fat woman she is, but excessively clever,--such
a letter writer!--Well--you see, my dear young friend, that it is a very
difficult matter to decide upon,--but you must already be fully aware
what plan I should advise."

"Already, Madame?"

"To be sure! What have I been saying to you all this time?--did you not
hear me? Shall I repeat my advice?"

"Oh, no! I perfectly comprehend you now; you would advise me--in
short--to--to--do--as well as I can."

"You have said it, my son. I thought you would understand me on a little
reflection."

"To be sure,--to be sure," said I.

And three ladies being announced, my conference with Madame de Balzac
ended.

I now resolved to wait a little till the tides of power seemed somewhat
more settled, and I could ascertain in what quarter to point my bark of
enterprise. I gave myself rather more eagerly to society, in proportion
as my political schemes were suffered to remain torpid. My mind could
not remain quiet, without preying on itself; and no evil appeared to me
so great as tranquillity. Thus the spring and earlier summer passed
on, till, in August, the riots preceding the Rebellion broke out in
Scotland. At this time I saw but little of Lord Bolingbroke in private;
though, with his characteristic affectation, he took care that the load
of business with which he was really oppressed should not prevent his
enjoyment of all gayeties in public. And my indifference to the cause
of the Chevalier, in which he was so warmly engaged, threw a natural
restraint upon our conversation, and produced an involuntary coldness in
our intercourse: so impossible is it for men to be private friends who
differ on a public matter.

One evening I was engaged to meet a large party at a country-house about
forty miles from Paris. I went, and stayed some days. My horses had
accompanied