At nine o’clock exactly, I was ready.
We went along the Rue St. Honoré to the Rue de Valois, and, arm-in-arm, entered the Palais Royal by the gate which opens into that street.
Maître Duplay gave his name. Citizen Laclos had, no doubt, given previous orders, for we were immediately admitted.
Arrived at the first floor, no sooner had Duplay given his name, than they sent at once for M. Chanderlos de Laclos.
M. Chanderlos de Laclos rushed up.
“Is this the young fellow?” asked he.
“Himself,” replied M. Duplay.
“Let him come into the presence of his Highness.”
He conducted me along a straight corridor into a boudoir, which led into a bed-room, the open door of which allowed me to see that the bed was unmade. The open windows, with the closed jalousies, gave access to a most refreshing breeze.
His Royal Highness, clothed in a dressing-gown, made of cashmere, with a cap to match, was sipping tea—a new fashion imported from England; every one knows that his Highness was thoroughly English—with a charming dame of twenty-nine or thirty years of age, clothed in an elegant morning dress, and who was, as I afterward learnt, Madame Buffon.