Saying this, he drew a bundle of notes from the hiding-place in which I had deposited them. “Do you know,” continued comte Jean, “I really think we shall find money enough here.” He began to count them: and when he had finished he said, “My dear sister, neither your husband nor myself wish to importune you, or put you to any inconvenience, therefore you shall merely oblige him with the loan of these 50,000 livres to extricate him from his present peril; they shall be faithfully and quickly restored to you, and a note of hand given you for that purpose if you desire it.” So saying, he divided the money into two parts, replaced one in the vase, and pocketed the other.
I was very indignant at the cool impudence with which this was done, and my patience had well nigh forsaken me: however, I restrained myself; and I was happy enough that I could so far conquer myself. My reproaches would not have induced comte Jean to give me back my money, and would only have roused his violence; which, when once excited, found vent in language so vehement and energetic, that I did not desire to hear any more of it than I could help. At these moments he selected not the politest expressions, but those which were the strongest: and besides, such was the ungovernable nature of comte Jean’s temper, that once roused, he would have treated the king himself with as little consideration as he did me. Still, he never deliberately insulted me, nor did he compose those insulting verses respecting me, which were printed as his, in “Les Anecdotes sur Madame du Barry.” This would have been an indignity I would quickly have caused him to repent having offered.
“Well,” inquired I, “are you very glad to see your brother in Paris?”
“No, ‘pon my soul!” returned he; “but since he is here, we must do the best we can with him; he was very anxious to see his sister-in-law and niece. He says the former is ugly as sin, and the latter almost as handsome as you.”
“Very gallant,” replied I; “but tell me, comte Jean, does this elegant compliment proceed from my husband or yourself?”
We were just then interrupted by the arrival of the maréchale, and comte Jean retired.
“Well, my dear,” she began, “have you seen M. de Sartines, and did you speak to him respecting those 100,000 livres?”
“Oh, yes,” replied I, “he gave them back to me; but I have already had half of them stolen from me.”
“By comte Jean, I’ll engage,” cried she. “Upon my word, that man is a perfect spendthrift, a prodigal; who, if you do not take great care, will certainly ruin you. And what will you do with the remaining 50,000 livres, my dear friend; where will you place them?”
“In your hands, my dear maréchale; ‘tis his majesty’s command.”