k him to be at your house at ten
o'clock the day after tomorrow, and if he can't come then please let me
know."

After reading the note and promising to keep the appointment, I left
Madame Varnier and called on Madame de Rumain, who told me I must spend a
whole day with her as she had several questions to put to my oracle.

Next day Madame d'Urfe told me the reply she had from the Duc de
Choiseul, when she told him that she had seen the Comte de St. Germain in
the Bois du Boulogne.

"I should not be surprised," said the minister, "considering that he
spent the night in my closet."

The duke was a man of wit and a man of the world. He only kept secrets
when they were really important ones; very different from those
make-believe diplomatists, who think they give themselves importance by
making a mystery of trifles of no consequence. It is true that the Duc de
Choiseul very seldom thought anything of great importance; and, in point
of fact, if there were less intrigue and more truth about diplomacy (as
there ought to be), concealment would be rather ridiculous than
necessary.

The duke had pretended to disgrace St. Germain in France that he might
use him as a spy in London; but Lord Halifax was by no means taken in by
this stratagem. However, all governments have the politeness to afford
one another these services, so that none of them can reproach the others.

The small Conte d'Aranda after caressing me affectionately begged me to
come and breakfast with him at his boarding-house, telling me that Mdlle.
Viar would be glad to see me.

The next day I took care not to fail in my appointment with the fair
lady. I was at Madame Varnier's a quarter of an hour before the arrival
of the dazzling brunette, and I waited for her with a beating at the
heart which shewed me that the small favours she had given me had not
quenched the flame of love. When she made her appearance the stoutness of
her figure carried respect with it, so that I did not feel as if I could
come forward and greet her tenderly; but she was far from thinking that
more respect was due to her than when she was at Grenoble, poor but also
pure. She kissed me affectionately and told me as much.

"They think I am happy," said she, "and envy my lot; but can one be happy
after the loss of one's self-respect? For the last six months I have only
smiled, not laughed; while at Grenoble I laughed heartily from true
gladness. I have diamonds, lace, a beautiful house,