place in the latter species of affection that Dubois
did in the former. The Duc was just coming out of the Abbe's closet as
I entered the anteroom. He paused to speak to me, while Dubois, who had
followed the Duc out, stopped for one moment, and surveyed me with a
look like a thundercloud. I did not appear to notice it, but St. Simon
did.

"That look," said he, as Dubois, beckoning to a gentleman to accompany
him to his closet, once more disappeared, "that look bodes you no good,
Count."

Pride is an elevation which is a spring-board at one time and
a stumbling-block at another. It was with me more often the
stumbling-block than the spring-board. "Monseigneur le Duc," said I,
haughtily enough, and rather in too loud a tone considering the chamber
was pretty full, "in no court to which Morton Devereux proffers his
services shall his fortune depend upon the looks of a low-born insolent
or a profligate priest."

St. Simon smiled sardonically. "Monsieur le Comte," said he, rather
civilly, "I honour your sentiments, and I wish you success in the
world--and a lower voice."

I was going to say something by way of retort, for I was in a very
bad humour, but I checked myself: "I need not," thought I, "make two
enemies, if I can help it."

"I shall never," I replied gravely, "I shall never despair, so long as
the Duc de St. Simon lives, of winning by the same arts the favour of
princes and the esteem of good men."

The Duc was flattered, and replied suitably, but he very soon afterwards
went away. I was resolved that I would not go till I had fairly seen
what sort of reception the Abbe would give me. I did not wait long, he
came out of his closet, and standing in his usual rude manner with his
back to the fireplace, received the addresses and compliments of his
visitors. I was not in a hurry to present myself, but I did so at last
with a familiar yet rather respectful air. Dubois looked at me from head
to foot, and abruptly turning his back upon me, said with an oath, to a
courtier who stood next to him,--"The plagues of Pharaoh are come again;
only instead of Egyptian frogs in our chambers, we have the still more
troublesome guests,--English adventurers!"

Somehow or other my compliments rarely tell; I am lavish enough of them,
but they generally have the air of sarcasms; thank Heaven, however, no
one can accuse me of ever wanting a rude answer to a rude speech. "Ha!
ha! ha!" said I now, in answer to Dubois, with a cou