“An infamous epistle,” added the chancellor, “which one of my friends managed to abstract from the post-office, and forwarded to me: I brought it to madame la comtesse, that she might admire the determined malice of our enemies.”
“You excite my curiosity,” cried Louis XV. “Madame, have the kindness to allow me to see this paper.”
“Indeed, sire,” exclaimed I, “I know not whether I ought to obey your majesty, so entirely has the writer of the letter forgotten the respect duc to your sacred person.”
“Oh,” said the king, “I do not fear that; I am but too well used to the offence to feel astonishment at its occurrence.”
I placed the paper in the hand of Louis XV, whose eye easily recognised the handwriting of madame de Grammont. “Ah, ah!” cried he, “is it so? let us see what this restless lady has to say of us all.” I watched the countenance of the king as he read, and saw the frown that covered it grow darker and darker; nevertheless he continued to read on without comment till he had reached the end; then sitting down and looking full at the chancellor, he exclaimed,
“Well, M. de Maupeou, and what do you think of this business?”
“I am overwhelmed with consternation, sire,” replied he, “when I think that one of your majesty’s ministers should be able to conspire thus openly against you.”
“Stay,” cried Louis hastily, “that fact is by no means proved. The duchesse de Grammont is a mad woman, who involves the safety of her brother; if I only believed him capable of such treachery, he should sleep this night in the Bastille, and to-morrow the necessary proceedings should be commenced against him: as for his sister, I will take care of her within four good walls, and avenge myself for her past misconduct, by putting it out of her power to injure me further.”
“Sire,” said I, in my turn, “remember she is a woman; I beseech you to pardon her, and let the weight of your just indignation fall upon her brother.”
“Chancellor,” cried the king, “this business must not be lightly passed over.”