The announcement, made with a most perfect air of candour, interested at once the whole company, who could not subdue their murmured expressions of surprise as to the theme selected by the great Diplomatist.
“I believe,” said he, smiling, “I am in a position to gratify the present company; for, if I mistake not, I have actually with me at this moment a brief manuscript of my latest attempt in fiction. As I am a mere amateur, without the slightest pretension to skill or ability, I feel no reluctance at exposing my efforts to the kind criticism of friends. I only make one stipulation.”
“Oh, pray, what is it? any thing, of course, you desire!” was heard on every side.
“It is this. I read very badly, and I would request that T———, our kind host, would take upon him to read it aloud for us.”
Lord T——— was only too much flattered by the proposal, and the Prince retired to fetch his papers, leaving the company amazed at the singularity of a scene which so little accorded with all they had ever heard of the deep and wily Minister; some of the shrewdest persons significantly observing, that the Prince was evidently verging on those years when vanity of every kind meets fewest obstacles to its display.
“Here are my papers, my Lord,” said the Prince, entering with his manuscript. “I have only to hope that they may afford to the honourable company any portion of the amusement their composition has given me.”
The party seated themselves round the room, and Lord T———, disposing the papers on the table before him, arranged the candles, and prepared to begin. “The title of the piece is missing,” said he, after a pause.
“Oh, no, my Lord; you’ll find it on the envelope,” replied Talleyrand.
“Ah, very true; here it is!—‘Secret Correspondence’———” Lord T——— stopped—his hands trembled—the blood left his face—and he leaned back in his chair almost fainting.
“You are not ill!—are you ill?” broke from many voices together.