On the following day, at an early hour, I repaired to the Port à l’Anglaise; M. de Rumas arrived there a few minutes after myself. He had the air and look of an honest man, but perhaps no species of deceit is more easily detected than that quiet, subdued manner, compressed lips, and uplifted eye. Now-a-days such a mode of dissembling would be too flimsy to impose even on children; and hypocrites are ever greater proficients in their art than was even M. de Rumas. Madame de Mirepoix left us alone together, in order that I might converse more freely with him. I knew not how to begin, but made many attempts to convey, in an indirect manner, the reasons for his being summoned to that day’s conference. However, hints and insinuations were alike thrown away upon one who had determined neither to use eye’s nor ears but as interest pointed out the reasonableness of so doing; and accordingly, unable longer to repress my impatience, I exclaimed abruptly, “Pray, sir, do you know who I am?” “Yes, madam,” replied he, with a profound bow, and look of the deepest humility, “you are the comtesse du Barry.” “Well, sir,” added I, “and you are equally well aware, no doubt, of the relation in which I stand to the king?” “But, madam--” “Nay, sir, answer without hesitation; I wish you to be candid, otherwise my exceeding frankness may displease you.” “I know, madam,” replied the hypocrite, “that his majesty finds great pleasure in your charming society.” “And yet, sir,” answered I, “his majesty experiences equal delight in the company of your wife. How answer you that, M. de Rumas?” “My wife, madam!” “Yes, sir, in the company of madame de Rumas; he pays her many private visits, secretly corresponds with her--” “The confidence of his majesty must ever honor his subjects.” “But,” replied I, quickly, “may dishonor a husband.” “How, madam! What is it you would insinuate?” “That your wife would fain supplant me, and that she is now the mistress of the king, although compelled to be such in secret.” “Impossible,” exclaimed M. de Rumas, “and some enemy to my wife has thus aspersed her to you.” “And do you treat it as a mere calumny?” said I. “No, sir, nothing can be more true; and if you would wish further confirmation, behold the letter which madame de Rumas wrote to the king only the day before yesterday; take it and read it.” “Heaven preserve me, madam,” exclaimed the time-serving wretch, “from. presuming to cast my eyes over what is meant only for his majesty’s gracious perusal; it would be an act of treason I am not capable of committing.” “Then, sir,” returned I, “I may reasonably conclude that it is with your sanction and concurrence your wife intrigues with the king?”