rteous laugh, "you
have an excellent wit, Abbe. _A propos_ of adventures, I met a Monsieur
St. Laurent, Principal of the Institution of St. Michael, the other
day. 'Count,' said he, hearing I was going to Paris, 'you can do me an
especial favour!' 'What is it?' said I. 'Why, a cast-off valet of mine
is living at Paris; he would have gone long since to the galleys, if he
had not taken sanctuary in the Church: if ever you meet him, give him a
good horsewhipping on my account; his name is William Dubois.' 'Depend
upon it,' answered I to Monsieur St. Laurent, 'that if he is servant to
any one not belonging to the royal family, I will fulfil your errand,
and horsewhip him soundly; if _in_ the service of the royal family, why,
respect for his masters must oblige me to content myself with putting
all persons on their guard against a little rascal, who retains, in all
situations, the manners of the apothecary's son and the roguery of the
director's valet.'"

All the time I was relating this charming little anecdote, it would have
been amusing to the last degree to note the horrified countenances of
the surrounding gentlemen. Dubois was too confounded, too aghast, to
interrupt me, and I left the room before a single syllable was uttered.
Had Dubois at that time been, what he was afterwards, cardinal and prime
minister, I should in all probability have had permanent lodgings in
the Bastile in return for my story. Even as it was, the Abbe was not so
grateful as he ought to have been for my taking so much pains to amuse
him! In spite of my anger on leaving the favourite, I did not forget
my prudence, and accordingly I hastened to the Prince. When the Regent
admitted me, I flung myself on my knee, and told him, _verbatim_, all
that had happened. The Regent, who seems to have had very little real
liking for Dubois, could not help laughing when I ludicrously described
to him the universal consternation my anecdote had excited.*

* On the death of Dubois, the Regent wrote to the Count de Noce, whom he
had banished for an indiscreet expression against the favourite, uttered
at one of his private suppers: "With the beast dies the venom: I expect
you to-night to supper at the Palais Royal."

"Courage, my dear Count," said he, kindly, "you have nothing to fear;
return home and count upon an embassy!"

I relied on the royal word, returned to my lodgings, and spent the
evening with Chaulieu and Fontenelle. The next day the Duc de St.