"I left Geneva in time, according to my calculation, to arrive at Ferney just before Voltaire's dinner hour; but my watch was wrong, and I did not discover my error till I arrived. There is no awkwardness more disagreeable than to be too early when going to dine with those who know how to occupy their mornings. Wishing really to please a celebrated man, who was kind enough to receive me, I dressed myself with elegance, and never before wore so many feathers and flowers. I took with me a German painter, M. Ott: he was very clever, but with very little literary knowledge, and, above all, had never read a line of Voltaire; but he felt the desirable enthusiasm only by hearing of him. He was in a state of ecstacy on approaching Ferney. I admired and envied his transport. We entered the drawing room; it was empty. The servants seemed surprised and hurried; the bells rang, and all gave signs of the truth, that we had arrived an hour too soon. We saw, at the end of the room, an oil painting magnificently framed; we hurried to examine it; and, to our great surprise, found it was a mere daub, representing Voltaire with a glory round his head, with the family of Calas kneeling before him, while he trod under foot his enemies Freron and Pompignan. The picture was the invention of a bad Genevese artist, who made a present of it to Voltaire. But it seemed the silliest thing in the world to hang it up in his drawing room. At length the door opened, and madame Denis and madame de Saint Julien entered; they announced that Voltaire would soon appear. Madame de Saint Julien was very amiable, and is passing the summer at Ferney. She calls Voltaire 'my philosopher,' and he calls her 'my butterfly.' She proposed a walk to me, and I was delighted; for I felt embarrassed at the idea of seeing the master of the house, and was glad to delay for a few minutes the formidable interview. We went on the terrace, from which the magnificent view of the lake and mountains might have been seen, had they not had the bad taste to raise a trellice, covered with a thick foliage that concealed all, so that the view was only to be perceived through little openings too small for my head; and, besides, the trellice was so low, that my feathers caught every moment. I was obliged to stoop, and this fatiguing attitude was ill suited to enable me to enjoy the conversation of madame de Saint Julien, who, short, and in a morning dress, walked at her ease, and conversed agreeably. At length we were told that Voltaire was in the drawing room. I felt so harassed and frightened that I would have given the world to have found myself in my inn at Geneva; but my companion, judging me by herself, drew me along quickly. We returned to the house. As soon as I had collected myself we entered, and I found myself in the presence of Voltaire. Madame de Saint Julien invited me to embrace him, saying that it would please him. I addressed him with the respect due to his genius and his age.