Paris. I Made a longer stay at Besançon than I intended, and am now about to inform you what detained me. The morning after the date of my last, as I returned to the inn from the parade, where I had been to see the troops, I met a servant of the Marquis de F——, who ran up to me the moment he knew me, and, in a breath, told me, that his master was at Besançon; that he had been exceedingly ill, and thought, by the physicians, in great danger; but his complaint having terminated in an ague, they had now the strongest hopes of his recovery. I desired to be conducted immediately to him. I found the Marquis alone; pale, languid, and greatly emaciated. He expressed, however, equal pleasure and surprise at this unexpected visit; said, he had been in danger of making a very long journey, and added, with a smile, that no man had ever set out with less inclination, for he hated travelling alone, and this was the only journey he could ever take, without wishing some of his friends to accompany him. He rejoiced, therefore, that he had been recalled in time to meet me before I should pass on to Paris. “But tell me,” continued he, “for I have ten thousand questions to ask—but let us take things in order; Eh bien, donnez nous donc des nouvélles du Pape? On nous a dit que vous aviez passé par la ceremonie de la Pantoufle. Ne pourroit on pas pendre au tragique une misère comme cela chez vous où le Saint Pere passe pour une _Babylonienne_ de mauvaise vie?” Before I could make any answer I chanced to turn my eyes upon a person whom I had not before observed, who sat very gravely upon a chair in a corner of the room, with a large periwig in full dress upon his head.