“And how?”
“Extremely well, sir; with very great facility.”
“Indeed? that always surprises me in a foreigner that has not lived here.”
Her accent is foreign, however; but her language is remarkably ready.
He then spoke of Voltaire, and talked a little of his works, concluding with this strong condemnation of their tendency:—
“I,” cried he, “think him a monster, I own it fairly.”
Nobody answered. Mrs. Delany did not quite hear him, and I knew too little of his works to have courage to say anything about them.
He next named Rousseau, whom he seemed to think of with more favour, though by no means with approbation, Here, too, I had read too little to talk at all, though his majesty frequently applied to me. Mrs. Delany told several anecdotes which had come to her immediate knowledge of him while he was in England, at which time he had spent some days with her brother, Mr. Granville, at Calwich. The king, too, told others, which had come to his own ears, all charging him with savage pride and insolent ingratitude.
Here, however, I ventured to interfere; for, as I knew he had had a pension from the king, I could not but wish his majesty should be informed he was grateful to him. And as you, my dear father, were my authority, I thought it but common justice to the memory of poor Rousseau to acquaint the king of his personal respect for him.
“Some gratitude, sir,” said I, “he was not without. When my father was in Paris, which was after Rousseau had been in England, he visited him in his garret, and the first thing he showed him was your majesty's portrait over his chimney.”