t he had wagered to make
one of the worst parts he overplayed successful. I cannot tell you much of
the plot of this tragedy. How could I hear it? I sat between your brother
and the fat Vicomte. Nevertheless you may rely on me that it is bad,
decidedly bad, whatever the satirist may say about it. I am quite of his
opinion when he says, 'That a work of that importance must be listened to
with attention, and that it is unjust to pronounce upon a play in the
midst of the clamors of theatre-factions, and the chattering of that crowd
of women who are always eager to display themselves at a first
representation.' All this is very true, but not at all applicable in this
instance. This time Racine is well judged. The denouement is the most
ridiculous I ever heard. Imagine that silly, conceited Junia turning
vestal, as if Madame de Sennes were to enter the Ursuline Convent. Heaven
forbid that I should play the scholar; but I have read in Menage that it
required other formalities to take the veil in the convent of ladies of
the society of Vesta. I forgot the most essential. Your little Desoeuillet
played like an angel. I spoke to her about you in her box. I think that
you had better come and speak about it yourself. She is a girl for whom
constancy is only the interval that separates two fancies.

'If you ever get the _Nouvelles a la Main_ where you are, you will see
Racine handled without gloves. The number which treats of his play has not
yet appeared; but if Le Clerc does things as he should, and remembers the
just resentment of d'Olonne and de Crequi,[4] from whom he received two
hundred pistoles, poor Britannicus will pay for Andromache.

[4] Alluding to an epigram of RACINE on D'OLONNE and DE CREQUI,
written to revenge himself for their attacks on 'Andromache.'

'Gourrilu has probably given you the perfumes you ordered for your pretty
cousin; Martial would not receive the money. He said that he was in your
debt. Dubroussin sends his love. We had such a charming supper at his
house! You were the only one wanting. I was obliged to bring Chapelle home
in my carriage, dead drunk: to pay for it, I left him the next day under
the table at _La Pomme de Pin_, where he has passed more than one night.

'I shall try to get to the levee next Sunday. My uncle is doing his best
to make me rejoin my regiment. If he should succeed, I shall see you on my
way. I should much prefer to have the meeting take place here; but
whatev