“Your servant, cousin,” said he, seating himself without the smallest ceremony; “at what page of our history have we arrived?”
“By the unusual freedom and effrontery of your manner,” answered I, “I should surmise that we have reached the word finis.”
“Oh,” replied the chancellor, “I crave your pardon for having omitted my best bow; but, my good cousin, my present visit is a friendly one, to advise you to burn your papers with as little delay as possible.”
“Thank you for your considerate counsel,” said I, coolly, “but I have no papers to destroy. I have neither mixed with any state intrigue, nor received a pension from the English government. Nothing will be found in my drawers but some unanswered billets-doux.”
“Then as I can do nothing for you, my good cousin, oblige me by giving this paper to the duc d’Aiguillon.”
“What is it?” inquired I, with much curiosity.
“Have you forgotten our mutual engagement to support each other, and not to quit the ministry until the other retired also? I have lately been compelled (from perceiving how deeply the duke was manoeuvering against me) to send him a copy of this agreement. Under other circumstances I might have availed myself of this writing, but now it matters not; the blow which dismisses me proceeds from other hands than his, and I am willing to leave him the consolation of remaining in power a few days after myself. Give him, then, this useless document; and now, farewell, my pretty cousin, let us take a last embrace.”
Upon which the chancellor, presuming until the last upon our imaginary relationship, kissed my cheek, and having put into my hands the paper in question, retired with a profound bow.
This ironical leave taking left me stupefied with astonishment, and well I presaged my coming disgrace from the absurd mummery the chancellor had thought fit to play off.
Comte Jean, who had seen M. de Maupeou quit the house, entered my apartment to inquire the reason of his visit. Silent and dejected, I allowed my brother-in-law to take up the paper, which he read without any ceremony. “What is the meaning of this scrawl?” cried comte Jean, with one of his usual oaths; “upon my word our cousin is a fine fellow,” continued he, crushing the paper between his fingers. “I’ll engage that he still hopes to keep his place; however, one thing consoles me, and that is, that both he and his parliament will soon be sent to the right about.”