I decided.
Parting with thee, oh, my beloved France, I felt that my heart was torn in pieces!
Oh, ma mère!
Oh, ma pauvre sœur chérie!
But I said to myself, “Oh, ma belle France! If only the Steppes do not swallow me up, I will scrape together a small capital, and will set up in Paris a matrimonial and divorce agency. Then shall nothing ever separate us more, oh, beloved—oh, incomparable native land!”
Looking forward to that longed-for moment, I decided to give up all my salary to my poor mother. For myself, I intended to live on casual gains, of which, by the exercise on my part of a certain amount of skill and inventive capacity, there would certainly be no lack.
On the journey the prince was exceedingly obliging. He always permitted me to sit at the same table with him, and gave me good food. Several times he attempted to explain to me in detail in what consist the “attributes of a Pompadour”; but I must confess that these explanations produced on me no other effect than complete bewilderment. This bewilderment was still further increased by the fact that during these explanations his face wore so ambiguous an expression that I never was able to make out whether he was speaking seriously or romancing.
“The Pompadourical profession,” said he, “is almost a superfluous one, but just that very superfluity is what gives to it the piquante significance which it has in our country. It is unnecessary, and yet it is ... you understand me?”
“Not quite, monseigneur.”
“I will try to express myself more clearly. A Pompadour has no special business; it would be better to say no business,” he added, correcting himself. “He produces nothing, manages nothing directly, and decides nothing. But he has internal policy and time to spare. The former gives him the right to interfere in the affairs of others; the latter enables him to vary that right without limit. I hope that now you understand me?”