"Yes, I am; and the Lord knows that I lead a pitiful life with the philosopher."
"You complain, madame, and yet you are the chosen friend of a great man!"
"People do not live on greatness, sir, nor on goodness either. Jean Jacques is too good to be of any use in this world. He gives away every thing he has, and leaves nothing for himself and me."
The stranger grew sad as he looked at this great, strapping woman, whose red face was the very representative of coarseness and meanness.
"Be so good as to conduct me to Monsieur Rousseau's presence, madame," said he, in rather a commanding tone.
"I shall do no such thing," cried Therese Levasseur, in a loud, rough voice. "People who visit in hackney-coaches should not take airs. Monsieur Rousseau is not to be seen by everybody."
"A curious doctrine that, to be propounded before a philosopher's door!" said the stranger, laughing. "But pray, madame, excuse me and my hackney-coach, and allow me to pass."
"You shall first tell your business. Do you bring music to copy?"
"No, madame, I come merely to visit monsieur."
"Then you can go as you came!" exclaimed the virago. "My husband is not a wild animal on exhibition, and I am not going to let in every idle stranger that interferes with his work and cuts off my bread. God knows he gives me little enough, without lessening the pittance by wasting his time talking to you or the like of you."