“Madame,” he replied, “that man is the friend of the State, which is the only thing that ought to be considered.”
Kaunitz was now eighty-three years old, tall, thin, and upright. His great intellect, taste, and judgment seemed unimpaired, and he prided himself on his perfect seat on horseback. In costume and appearance he resembled the splendid cavaliers of the court of Louis XIV.
His life at Vienna was that of a grand seigneur of the most illustrious order, and on New Year’s day and on his fête, the crowd that flocked to his house to congratulate him was so enormous that he might have been supposed to be the Emperor himself.
He was extremely kind to Mme. Le Brun, whom he always called “ma bonne amie”; she was often at his house, though she did not care for the great dinners of never less than thirty people, which were always at seven o’clock—in those days considered a late hour.
Lisette, in fact, liked to paint all the morning, dine by herself at half-past two, then take a siesta, and devote the latter part of the day and evening to social engagements.
Prince von Kaunitz desired that her picture of the Sibyl should be exhibited for a fortnight in his salon, where all the court and town came to see it. Mme. Le Brun made also the acquaintance of the celebrated painter of battles, Casanova.
One evening at a dinner-party of Prince von Kaunitz, when the conversation turned upon painting, some one was speaking of Rubens being appointed ambassador.
An old German baroness exclaimed—