The supper began by being frightfully dull. The two strangers and the _fermier-general_ oppressed us. I made a sign to Beaumarchais to intoxicate the son of Esculapius, who sat on his right, giving him to understand that I would do the same by the lawyer, who was next to me. As there seemed no other way to amuse ourselves, and it offered a chance to draw out the two men, who were already sufficiently singular, Monsieur de Calonne smiled at our project. The ladies present also shared in the bacchanal conspiracy, and the wine of Sillery crowned our glasses again and again with its silvery foam. The surgeon was easily managed; but at the second glass which I offered to my neighbor the lawyer, he told me with the frigid politeness of a usurer that he should drink no more. At this instant Madame de Saint-James chanced to introduce, I scarcely know how, the topic of the marvellous suppers to the Comte de Cagliostro, given by the Cardinal de Rohan. My mind was not very attentive to what the mistress of the house was saying, because I was watching with extreme curiosity the pinched and livid face of my little neighbor, whose principal feature was a turned-up and at the same time pointed nose, which made him, at times, look very like a weasel. Suddenly his cheeks flushed as he caught the words of a dispute between Madame de Saint-James and Monsieur de Calonne. “But I assure you, monsieur,” she was saying, with an imperious air, “that I _saw_ Cleopatra, the queen.” “I can believe it, madame,” said my neighbor, “for I myself have spoken to Catherine de’ Medici.” “Oh! oh!” exclaimed Monsieur de Calonne. The words uttered by the little provincial were said in a voice of strange sonorousness, if I may be permitted to borrow that expression from the science of physics. This sudden clearness of intonation, coming from a man who had hitherto scarcely spoken, and then in a low and modulated tone, surprised all present exceedingly. “Why, he is talking!” said the surgeon, who was now in a satisfactory state of drunkenness, addressing Beaumarchais. “His neighbor must have pulled his wires,” replied the satirist. My man flushed again as he overheard the words, though they were said in a low voice. “And pray, how was the late queen?” asked Calonne, jestingly.