"I went to take her a flacon, the good effects of which I have personally tested, when I have had attacks of pain in the stomach, which sometimes destroyed my consciousness. Well, you say nothing. You are all amazed. You wish to praise my paternal and royal benevolence, but dare not do so, because you think me ridiculous."
"Sire, if you are in love, like other mortals, I have no objection," said La Mettrie, "and see no occasion either for praise or blame."
"Well, my good Panurge, if I must speak plainly, I am not at all in love. I am a simple man, it is true, and have not the honor to be King of France; consequently, the style of manners which are proper enough for a great monarch, like Louis XV., would be unbecoming to myself, a petty Marquis of Brandebourg. In managing my business, I have much besides to attend to, and have not time to slumber in the bowers of Cytherea."
"Then I do not understand your anxiety about this little opera-singer," said La Mettrie; "and I shall not be able to know what to think unless this results from mere musical enthusiasm."
"This being the case—know, my friends, that I am neither the lover, nor wish to be, of Porporina—yet that I am much attached to her, because in a matter too tedious to be told now, and before she knew me, she saved my life. It was a strange affair, and I will tell you of it on some other occasion. The night is now too far gone, and M. de Voltaire is going to sleep. Let it suffice to know that if I am here, and not elsewhere, as some good people wish, it is attributable to her. You know now, that seeing her dangerously indisposed, I may go to see whether she be dead or alive, and take a flacon of sthas to her, without your having any reason to think me a Duke de Richelieu or De Lauzun. Well, gentlemen adieu. Eight days ago I took off my boots, and in six more must resume them. I pray God to take you in his holy charge, as we say at the end of a letter."
* * * * * * * *
Just as the great clock of the palace struck twelve, the young and worldly Abbess of Quedlimburgh was about to get into her bed of rose-satin. Her first femme de chambre placed her slippers on the ermine carpet. The attendant suddenly began to tremble, and uttered a cry. Some one tapped at the door of the princess's chamber.
"Well, are you mad?" said the fair Amelia, half opening her curtain. "Why look around and utter such a cry?"
"Has not your royal highness heard some one knock?"
"Well, go and see who it is."