This was a blow for me, but I concealed my disappointment. Supper was served, and I sat down as usual at the left hand of the palatin, who was annoyed with me, and shewed it. We were eighteen at table, and for once I had no appetite. About the middle of the supper Prince Gaspard Lubomirski came in, and chanced to sit down opposite me. As soon as he saw me he condoled with me in a loud voice for what had happened.
“I am sorry for you,” said he, “but Branicki was drunk, and you really shouldn’t count what he said as an insult.”
“What has happened?” became at once the general question. I held my tongue, and when they asked Lubomirski he replied that as I kept silence it was his duty to do the same.
Thereupon the palatin, speaking in his friendliest manner, said to me,—
“What has taken place between you and Branicki?”
“I will tell you the whole story, my lord, in private after supper.”
The conversation became indifferent, and after the meal was over the palatin took up his stand by the small door by which he was accustomed to leave the room, and there I told him the whole story. He sighed, condoled with me, and added,—
“You had good reasons for being absent-minded at cards.”
“May I presume to ask your excellency’s advice?”
“I never give advice in these affairs, in which you must do every-thing or nothing.”