“M. le Prince de Condé and M. le Duc d’Enghien. They used to hunt in the Forest of Argonne, and M. d’Enghien was in the habit of taking me with him.”
“Well, nothing can astonish me, after this!” cried Madame de Buffon.
“Did you see my cousin just before his departure?” asked the Duc de Chartres.
“I am probably the last Frenchman to whom he paid the honor of shaking his hand.”
“Well, then, you must accept my offer, and breakfast with me.”
“That is my affair,” said the Duc. “Dear lady, methinks I heard you say that you have some carpentry work to be done in your apartments. I, for my part, have several orders to give Duplay. Let him be brought up, M. Laclos: we will give him our commands ourselves. Let him pass through the salle-à-manger, and there he can drink a health to the nation, in a glass of wine, with these young gentlemen.”
Thus was the affair arranged.
I told the Duc de Chartres, while breakfasting with him, all that related to our hunting expeditions in the Forest of Argonne, to my education, the death of Pére Descharmes, my sojourn at Varennes, the arrest of the King, and the return to Paris.
“You are only half-armed, my dear M. Réné,” said the Duc de Chartres, when leaving me. “My cousin of Enghien gave you a gun: allow me to present you with a pair of pistols.”
He then took down a pair from a trophy—they were of Versailles manufacture—and insisted on my accepting them, as they matched my gun in pattern.