“What does your majesty say?” inquired I.
“Nay, let the comte explain,” cried Louis XV.
“The king observed, my dear sister,” answered comte Jean, “that ladies—but, in fact, I can neither explain the observation, nor was it intended for you—so let it rest.”
He continued for some time to jest with comte Jean upon his supposed passion for the fair daughter of the cabinet-maker; and the king, whilst affecting the utmost indifference, took every pains to obtain the fullest particulars as to where this peerless beauty might be found.
When my brother-in-law and myself were alone, he said to me, “I played my part famously, did I not? How eagerly the bait was swallowed!”
“Explain yourself,” said I.
“My good sister, what I have said respecting this perfection of loveliness is no fiction, neither have I at all exaggerated either her perfections or her beauty, and I trust by her aid we shall obliterate from the king’s mind every recollection of the syren of the Parc-aux-Cerfs.”
“Heaven grant it,” exclaimed I.
“My dear sister,” replied comte Jean, “heaven has nothing to do with such things.”
Alas! he was mistaken, and Providence only employed the present occasion as a means of causing us to be precipitated into the very abyss of ruin we had dug for others. On the following morning, Chamilly came to me to inquire whether it was my pleasure that the present scheme should be carried into execution.