“So, then,” thought I, “even genius has its visiting lists.” We entered; Jean Jacques formally saluted us, and invited us to be seated. He then gave me my music; I inquired what it came to; he consulted a little memorandum which lay upon the table, and replied, “So many pages, so much paper, eighteen livres twelve sous;” which, of course, I instantly paid. The duc d’Aiguillon, whom I styled my uncle, was endeavoring to lead Rousseau into conversation, when the outer bell rang. Thérèse went to open the door, and a gentleman entered, of mature age, although still preserving his good looks. The duke regarded him in silence and immediately made signs for me to hasten our departure; I obeyed, and took leave of Rousseau, with many thanks his punctuality. He accompanied us as before to door, and there I quitted him never to see him more. As we were descending the staircase, M. d’Aiguillon told me that the person who had so hastened our departure was Duclas, and that his hurry to quit Rousseau arose from his dread of being recognised by him. Although M. Duclas was a very excellent man, I must own that I owed no small grudge for a visit which had thus abridged ours. In the evening the duc d’Aiguillon and myself related to the king our morning’s pilgrimage. I likewise recounted my former visit, which I had concealed until now. Louis XV seemed greatly interested with the recital of it; he asked me a thousand questions, and would fain hear the most trifling particulars. “I shall never forget,” said Louis XV, “the amazing success obtained by his ‘_Devin du Village._’ There certainly were some beautiful airs”, and the king began to hum over the song of “_J’ai perdu tout mon bonheur._” “Yes, madam,” continued his majesty, “I promise you, that had Rousseau after his success chosen to step forward as a candidate for public favour, he would soon have overthrown Voltaire.” “Pardon me,” replied I; “but I cannot believe that would have been possible under any circumstances.” “And why not?” asked the king; “he was a man of great talent.” “Doubtless, sire, but not of the kind to compete with Voltaire.” The king then changed the conversation to Thérèse, inquiring whether she possessed any attractions? “None whatever, sire,” replied the duke; “at least none that we could perceive.” “In that case,” rejoined his majesty, “she must have charmed her master by some of those unseen perfections which take the deepest hold of the heart; besides I know not why we should think it strange that others see with different eyes to ourselves.”