“‘The duke was one of the most witty men I ever met with. It would be difficult to find a more piquant narrator than himself; and upon this occasion, the little pointe de vin which he had taken had awakened his imagination, and caused him to be even more lively and amusing than usual. His gaiety was contagious; and as he told one after the other the most échevelé anecdotes of the ex-favourite, all of the kind most likely to have been served up by M. de Liancourt for the entertainment of his dissolute companions, the peals of laughter which his recitals caused me to emit, rivalled his own in noise and duration. So absorbed was I in listening to his merry stories, and so diverted by his pleasant manner of telling them, that I did not perceive the tremendous rate at which the horses were going, nor the length of time which seemed to have been occupied in our short journey to the hôtel of the minister.
“‘Once, indeed, d’Aiguillon had stopped in the midst of one of his best narrations to draw aside the blind, exclaiming, ‘What, shall we never reach ce diable de ministre?’ and, after looking out, had thrown himself back with another of those comical laughs, in which I could not help joining with all my heart; but I was so much amused, and felt myself so extremely happy, that no suspicion entered my head concerning the direction we had taken, and my only fear began to be, lest we should arrive at our destination before his stock of anecdote was exhausted. In short, any one who had followed in our wake, and heard the peals of laughter which issued from the carriage, would certainly have thought me to have been as drunk as he. This mirth, however, at least as far as I was concerned, was destined to receive a tremendous check by the stopping of the vehicle, and the sudden appearance at the door of the officer of octroi, who asked for the toll, which then it was the custom for all private carriages to pay on leaving the capital.
“‘Good God! where are we?’ exclaimed I, in alarm, now for the first time, since I had left my uncle’s presence, remembering the importance of the errand upon which I had been despatched, his earnest injunctions to use no delay in paying my official respects to the minister, and the short space of time I had allowed myself to execute his command, even when I had first set out.
“‘At the Barrière des Bonshommes!’ returned the employé, slamming the door, and making the usual sign to the coachman that he might proceed.
“‘Before I had recovered from my astonishment, the carriage was again flying along the road, at the full gallop of the horses; and, while I was bawling myself hoarse, to induce the coachmen to stop, again was d’Aiguillon roaring with laughter! I was by this time in a state of great vexation, which seemed rather to increase than diminish my friend’s merriment. In vain I pulled the check-string with all my might, and in despair leaned my body from the window to make myself heard by the grinning lackeys: my endeavours to arrest the progress of the carriage, seemed but to increase the speed at which we were going.
“‘’Tis useless,’ exclaimed d’Aiguillon, drawing me back into my seat, ‘the varlets have my orders, and I am their master ne vous déplaise; besides,’ continued he, pulling out his watch, ‘your minister by this time is as far on the road to Versailles as we are on this; therefore, let us no longer trouble our heads about business, but give ourselves up to pleasure. I promise you as much satisfaction this evening from the remembrance of our trip, as your uncle would have promised you from the security of a good conscience. We are going to spend a delightful hour, so en avant, et vogue la galère.’
“‘It was in vain that I protested against the deception which he had played upon me. The hair-brained young scamp was too much excited with wine and merriment to listen to reason, and I, myself, could not long resist the influence of his piquant wit, his bon-mots, and comical descriptions, and gave way, with all the good-will of youth and light-heartedness, to the mirth of the moment. I really imagined that he was taking me to some one of the delightful petites maisons, with which the environs of Paris abounded at that time, and that we should meet some of his joyous friends to spend the night, as it was evident he had done the one preceding, in fun and frolic, with one or two of the choice spirits with whom he associated. Meanwhile, the carriage went on with increasing rapidity.
“‘Where does your friend reside?’ inquired I. D’Aiguillon put his finger to his nose, winked and looked cunning, but said nothing. Ruel, Nanterre, Bougival, all were passed, and still we paused not.
“‘We are evidently going to St. Germain,’ thought I. ‘Well, ’tis of no consequence; the mischief is done, and nothing can save me now from the minister’s wrath and my poor uncle’s displeasure.’ But no—I was wrong. When we came to the bottom of the hill upon which is situated St. Germain, the carriage turned suddenly off the road to the left, and entered a fine avenue of chestnut trees, at the end of which I could perceive a pair of lofty iron gates, and, just peering above the trees, the numerous chimneys and shining slates, of what appeared, at the distance, a tolerably-sized château. The adventure now assumed a different aspect; and I began to fear that, so far from the joyous party I had before anticipated, we were destined to swell the number of convives at the table of some rich old dowager en retraite, and that the treacherous kidnapping of d’Aiguillon was but a wily invention to diminish his own ennui by making me share in it.
“‘But the reproaches which I addressed to d’Aiguillon were unheard by him; for, having exhausted his stock of scandal, and being himself exhausted by the sleepless night he had passed, he had quietly folded his arms, and sunk back into a sound and heavy slumber; and, proceeding at the same rapid pace with which we had set out, up the avenue within the iron gates, we were soon before the perron. As the carriage stopped, I rubbed my eyes, scarcely able to believe my senses. Was I in a dream? Every object which presented itself to my astonished, horror-stricken gaze seemed familiar to my memory. The marble steps—the hedge of geraniums—the open vestibule with the porphyry columns—and now the doubt becomes certainty! The footman who comes with such agility down the steps to assist us in alighting from the carriage, wears the livery of—I was in a perspiration from head to foot—of Madame Dubarri! Yes—the detestable plaisanterie of d’Aiguillon was now evident. He had brought me to Luciennes, and we were standing, four years too late, before the Pavillon. The trees had grown since I was there last, therefore I had not at first recognised the place.