“Very well; but what would you have me do?” “You must amuse him.” “That is easier said than done.” “You are right, but it is compulsory. Believe me, kings are not moulded like other men: early disgusted with all things, they only exist in a variety of pleasures; what pleases them this evening will displease them tomorrow; they wish to be happy in a different way. Louis XV is more kingly in this respect than any other. You must devise amusements for him.” “Alas,” I replied, “how? Shall I give him a new tragedy of la Harpe’s,--he will yawn; an opera of Marmontel,--he will go to sleep. Heavens! how unfortunate I am!” “Really, my dear,” replied the maréchale, “I cannot advise you; but I can quote a powerful example. In such a case madame de Pompadour would have admitted a rival near the throne.” “Madame de Pompadour was very amiable, my dear,” I replied, “and I would have done so once or twice, but the part of Mother Gourdan does not suit me; I prefer that of her young ladies.” At these words the maréchale laughed, whilst I made a long grave face. At this instant comte Jean entered, and exclaimed, “Really, ladies, you present a singular contrast. May I ask you, sister, what causes this sorrow? What ails you?” “Oh, brother!” was my response, “the king is dying of ennui.” “That is no marvel,” said my brother-in-law. “And to rouse him,” I added, “it is necessary, the maréchale says, that I must take a pretty girl by the hand, and present her to the king with these words: ‘Sire, having found that you grow tired of me, I present this lady to you, that you may amuse yourself with her.” “That would be very fine,” replied comte Jean; “it would show him that you had profited by my advice.” Then, whispering in my ear, “You know, sister, I am capable of the greatest sacrifices for the king.” “What are you saying, Comte Jean?” asked the maréchale, who had heard some words. “I said to my sister,” answered he, coolly, “that she ought to be executed to please the king.” “And you, too, brother,” I cried. “Yes, sister,” said he, with a theatrical tone, “I see the dire necessity, and submit to it unrepiningly. Let us yield to fate, or rather, let us so act as to make it favorable to us. The king requires some amusement, and let us find him a little wench. We must take heed not to present any fine lady: no, no; by all the devils--! Excuse me, maréchale, ‘tis a habit I have.” “It is nature, you mean,” replied the maréchale: “the nightingale is born to sing, and you, comte Jean, were born to swear; is it not true?” “_Morbleu_, madam, you are right.” After this conversation the maréchale went out, and Comte Jean departed to arrange his plans for the king’s amusement. However, the ennui of Louis XV was somewhat dissipated by the tidings of the various incidents which occurred at the grand entry of the dauphin and dauphiness into Paris. We learnt that the duc de Brissac, as governor of Paris, on receiving the dauphiness, said,