it is the last?"

"It is the last."

CHAPTER VIII

THE LITTLE SUPPER OF THE REGENT

Paris, city of delights, Paris drunk with gold, mad with the delirium of
excesses, Paris with no aim except joy, no method but extravagance, held
within her gilded gates one citadel of sensuality which remained ever an
object of mystery, a source of curiosity even in that dissipated and
pleasure-sated city. In the Palais Royal, back of the regally beautiful
gardens, back of the noble rows of trees, beyond the gates of iron and
the guards in uniform, lived France's regent, in a city of libertines
the prince of libertines. In a city where there were more mistresses
than wives, he it was who led the list of the licentious. In a city of
unregulated vice and yet of exquisitely ordered taste, he it was who
accorded to himself daily pleasures which were admittedly beyond
approach. How unspeakably unbridled, how delightfully wicked, how
temptingly ingenious in their features the little suppers of the regent
might be--these were matters of curious interest to all, of intimate
knowledge to but few.

It was to one of these famous yet mysterious gatherings that the regent
of France had invited the master of that great and glittering bubble
house, wherein dwelt so insecurely the affairs of France. John Law,
director-general of the finances, controller of the Company of the
Indies, was chosen by Philippe of Orleans for a position not granted to
the crafty Dubois or to the shrewd D'Argenson, the last of that strange
trinity who made his council. John Law, gallant, graceful, owner of a
reputation as wit and beau scarce behind that of his sudden fame as
financier, was admitted not only to the business affairs of the gay
duke, but to his pleasures as well. To him and his brother Will, still
associated in large measure in the stupendous operations of the
director-general, there came the invitation of the regent, practically
the command of the king, to join the regent after the opera for a little
supper at the Palais Royal.

Law would have excused himself from this unsought honor. "Your Grace
will observe," said he, "that my time is occupied to the full. The
people scarcely suffer me to rest at night. Perhaps your Grace might not
care for company so dull as mine."

"Fie! my friend, my very good friend," replied Philippe. "Have you
become _devot_? Whence this sudden change? Consider; 'tis no hardship to
meet such ladies as Madame de Sabran,