“Thank you, Count, what am I then? I have been here twenty times.”
“Why, I will answer you with a story. The soul of a Jesuit one night, when its body was asleep, wandered down to the lower regions; Satan caught it, and was about to consign it to some appropriate place; the soul tried hard to excuse itself: you know what a cunning thing a Jesuit’s soul is! ‘Monsieur Satan,’ said the spirit; ‘no king should punish a traveller as he would a native. Upon my honour, I am merely here en voyageur.’ ‘Go then,’ said Satan, and the soul flew back to its body. But the Jesuit died, and came to the lower regions a second time. He was brought before his Satanic majesty, and made the same excuse. ‘No, no,’ cried Beelzebub; ‘once here is to be only le diable voyageur; twice here, and you are le diable tout de bon.’”
“Ha! ha! ha!” said Chatran, laughing; “I then am the diable tout de bon! ‘tis well I am no worse; for we reckon the roues a devilish deal worse than the very worst of the devils,—but see, the Regent approaches us.”
And, leaving a very pretty and gay-looking lady, the Regent sauntered towards us. It was in walking, by the by, that he lost all the grace of his mien. I don’t know, however, that one wishes a great man to be graceful, so long as he’s familiar.
“Aha, Monsieur Devereux!” said he, “we will give you some lessons in cooking to-night; we shall show you how to provide for yourself in that barbarous country which you are about to visit. Tout voyageur doit tout savoir!”
“Avery admirable saying; which leads me to understand that Monseigneur has been a great traveller,” said I.
“Ay, in all things and all places; eh, Count?” answered the Regent, smiling; “but,” here he lowered his voice a little, “I have never yet learned how you came so opportunely to our assistance that night. Dieu me damne! but it reminds me of the old story of the two sisters meeting at a gallant’s house. ‘Oh, Sister, how came you here?’ said one, in virtuous amazement. ‘Ciel! ma soeur!’ cries the other; ‘what brought you?’”*
* The reader will remember a better version of this anecdote in one of the most popular of the English comedies.—ED.
“Monseigneur is pleasant,” said I, laughing; “but a man does now and then (though I own it is very seldom) do a good action, without having previously resolved to commit a bad one!”
“I like your parenthesis,” cried the Regent; “it reminds me of my friend St. Simon, who thinks so ill of mankind that I asked him one day whether it was possible for him to despise anything more than men? ‘Yes,’ said he, with a low bow, ‘women!’”