“Excellently. They are always talking about you and regretting your absence; they will go wild with joy when they know you are here.”
“You must tell them directly, then.”
“I will go and warn them that we shall all sup together this evening. By the way, M. de Voltaire has given up his house at Delices to M. de Villars, and has gone to live at Ferney.”
“That makes no difference to me, as I was not thinking of calling on him this time. I shall be here for two or three weeks, and I mean to devote my time to you.”
“You are too good.”
“Will you give me writing materials before you go out? I will write a few letters while you are away.”
He put me in possession of his desk, and I wrote to my late housekeeper, Madame Lebel, telling her that I was going to spend three weeks at Geneva, and that if I were sure of seeing her I would gladly pay a visit to Lausanne. Unfortunately, I also wrote to the bad Genoese poet, Ascanio Pogomas, or Giaccomo Passano, whom I had met at Leghorn. I told him to go to Turin and to wait for me there. At the same time I wrote to M. F——, to whom I had commended him, asking him to give the poet twelve Louis for the journey.
My evil genius made me think of this man, who was an imposing-looking fellow, and had all the air of a magician, to introduce him to Madame d’Urfe as a great adept. You will see, dear reader, in the course of a year whether I had reason to repent of this fatal inspiration.
As the syndic and I were on our way to our young friend’s house I saw an elegant English carriage for sale, and I exchanged it for mine, giving the owner a hundred Louis as well. While the bargain was going on the uncle of the young theologian who argued so well, and to whom I had given such pleasant lessons in physiology, came up to me, embraced me, and asked me to dine with him the next day.
Before we got to the house the syndic informed me that we should find another extremely pretty but uninitiated girl present.