“No, mademoiselle, we always put it behind.”
Monsieur and Madame Preodot were dying with laughter; the young lady was confused, and I in despair at having uttered such a gross absurdity; but it could not be helped. I took a book sulkily, in the hope of putting a stop to their mirth, but it was of no use: it lasted a week. That uncouth blunder soon got known throughout Paris, and gave me a sort of reputation which I lost little by little, but only when I understood the double meanings of words better. Crebillon was much amused with my blunder, and he told me that I ought to have said after instead of behind. Ah! why have not all languages the same genius! But if the French laughed at my mistakes in speaking their language, I took my revenge amply by turning some of their idioms into ridicule.
“Sir,” I once said to a gentleman, “how is your wife?”
“You do her great honour, sir.”
“Pray tell me, sir, what her honour has to do with her health?”
I meet in the Bois de Boulogne a young man riding a horse which he cannot master, and at last he is thrown. I stop the horse, run to the assistance of the young man and help him up.
“Did you hurt yourself, sir?”
“Oh, many thanks, sir, au contraire.”
“Why au contraire! The deuce! It has done you good? Then begin again, sir.”
And a thousand similar expressions entirely the reverse of good sense. But it is the genius of the language.