nd my Spaniard.

There was nothing to keep me in Strasburg, so I wanted to cross the Rhine
immediately; but Desarmoises persuaded me to come with him to see an
extremely pretty woman who had only delayed her departure for Augsburg in
the hope that we might journey there together.

"You know the lady," said the false marquis, "but she made me give my
word of honour that I would not tell you. She has only her maid with her,
and I am sure you will be pleased to see her."

My curiosity made me give in. I followed Desarmoises, and came into a
room where I saw a nice-looking woman whom I did not recognize at first.
I collected my thoughts, and the lady turned out to be a dancer whom I
had admired on the Dresden boards eight years before. She was then
mistress to Count Bruhl, but I had not even attempted to win her favour.
She had an excellent carriage, and as she was ready to go to Augsburg I
immediately concluded that we could make the journey together very
pleasantly.

After the usual compliments had passed, we decided on leaving for
Augsburg the following morning. The lady was going to Munich, but as I
had no business there we agreed that she should go by herself.

"I am quite sure," she said, afterwards, "that you will come too, for the
ambassadors do not assemble at Augsburg till next September."

We supped together, and next morning we started on our way; she in her
carriage with her maid, and I in mine with Desarmoises, preceded by Le
Duc on horseback. At Rastadt, however, we made a change, the Renaud (as
she was called) thinking that she would give less opportunity for curious
surmises by riding with me while Desarmoises went with the servant. We
soon became intimate. She told me about herself, or pretended to, and I
told her all that I did not want to conceal. I informed her that I was an
agent of the Court of Lisbon, and she believed me, while, for my part, I
believed that she was only going to Munich and Augsburg to sell her
diamonds.

We began to talk about Desarmoises, and she said that it was well enough
for me to associate with him, but I should not countenance his styling
himself marquis.

"But," said I, "he is the son of the Marquis Desarmoises, of Nancy."

"No, he isn't; he is only a retired messenger, with a small pension from
the department of foreign affairs. I know the Marquis Desarmoises; he
lives at Nancy, and is not so old as our friend."

"Then one can't see how he can be Desarmoises's fat