"Rather so, and yet you must not feel offended at that. The situation of this sarcastic and talented old man is very peculiar; his unquiet petulance incessantly gives birth to fresh perils. He, of necessity, must make friends in every quarter, left and right, in France and foreign countries. The necessary consequence is, that he cannot follow a straight path. The Choiseuls have served him with perfect zeal: do not be astonished if he abandon them when they can no longer serve him. If they fall, he will bid them good evening, and will sport your cockade openly." "But," I replied, "this is a villainous character." "Ah, I do not pretend to introduce to you an Aristides or an Epaminondas, or any other soul of similar stamp. He is a man of letters, full of wit, a deep thinker, a superior genius, and our reputations are in his hands. If he flatters us, posterity will know it; if he laugh at us, it will know it also. I counsel you therefore to use him well, if you would have him behave so towards you." "I will act conformably to your advice," said I to the maréchal; "at the same time I own to you that I fear him like a firebrand." "I, like you, think that there is in him something of the infernal stone: he burns you on the slightest touch. But now, to this letter; you will see what he says to you. He begs me most particularly to conceal from every body the step he has taken with you. What he most dreads is, lest you should proclaim from the housetops that he is in correspondence with you. I conjure you, on his behalf, to exercise the greatest discretion, and I think that you are interested in doing so; for, if what he has done should be made public, he will not fail to exercise upon you the virulence of his biting wit." Our conversation was interrupted by a stir which we heard in the château, and which announced to us the king. The maréchal hastily desired me not to show Voltaire's letter to the king until I had read it previously to myself. "He does not like this extraordinary man," he added, "and accuses him of having failed in respect, and perhaps you will find in this paper some expression which may displease him." Scarcely had I put the epistle in my pocket, when the king entered. "What are you talking about," said he, "you seem agitated?" "Of M. de Voltaire, sire," I replied, with so much presence of mind as to please the duc de Richelieu. "What, is he at his tricks again? Have you any cause of complaint against him?" "Quite the reverse; he has charged M. d'Argental to say to M. de Richelieu, that he was sorry that he could not come and prostrate himself at my feet." "Ah," said the king, remembering the letter to the duc d'Aiguillon, "he persists in his coquetries towards you: that is better than being lampooned by him. But do not place too much confidence in this gentleman of the chamber: he weighs every thing in two scales; and I doubt much whether he will spare you when he evinces but little consideration for me."