“I am very happy,” she said “to see and welcome under my roof one of the most illustrious thinkers of the era.”
“Lady Dubarry,” stammered Rousseau, without seeing that his astonishment was an offense. “So it is she who gives the breakfast?”
“You guess right, my dear philosopher,” replied Jussieu, “she and her sister, Mdlle. Chon, who at least is no stranger to Friend Gilbert.”
“Her sister knows Gilbert?”
“Intimately,” rejoined the impudent girl with the audacity which respected neither royal ill-humor nor philosopher’s quips. “We are old boon companions—are you already forgetful of the candy and cakes of Luciennes and Versailles?”
This shot went home; Rousseau dropped his arms. Habituated in his conceit to think the aristocratic party were always trying to seduce him from the popular side, he saw traitors and spies in everybody.
“Is this so, unhappy boy?” he asked of Gilbert, confounded. “Begone, for I do not like those who blow hot and cold with the same breath.”
“But I ran away from Luciennes where I was locked up, and I must have preferred your house, my guide, my friend, my philosopher!”
“Hypocrisy!”
“But, M. Rousseau, if I wanted the society of these ladies, I should go with them now?”