The abbé Terray acted with less ceremony, for he came himself to say, that, so long as the king remained ill, he would pay no money without his majesty’s signature, for which my brother-in-law might either ask or wait till there no longer existed any occasion for such a precaution; and that, for his own part, he could not conceive how he could have consumed the enormous sums he had already drawn from the treasury. This manner of speaking stung me to the quick. “I find you,” said I to him, “precisely the mean, contemptible wretch you were described to me; but you are premature. I am not yet an exile from court, and yet you seem already to have forgotten all you owe to me.” “I have a very good memory, madam,” replied he, “and if you wish it, I can count upon my fingers the money you and your family have received of me. You will see--” “What shall I see?” interrupted I, “unless, indeed, it be an amount of your regrets that such a sum was not left in your hands to be pillaged by your mistresses and their spurious offspring. Really, to hear you talk, any one would suppose you a Sully for integrity, and a Colbert in financial talent.” This vigorous reply staggered the selfish and coarse-minded abbé, who easily perceived that he had carried matters too far, and had reckoned erroneously upon the feebleness and timidity of my natural disposition; he attempted to pacify me, but his cowardly insolence had exasperated me too highly to admit of any apology or peace-making. “Have a care what you do,” said I, “or rather employ yourself in packing up whatever may belong to you, for you shall quit your post whatever may befall. In the event of the king’s death you will certainly be turned out by his successor, and if he regain his health, he must then choose between you and me, there can be no medium. Henceforward, you may consider me only in the light of your mortal enemy.” He wished to insist upon my hearing him, but I exclaimed, “Quit the room, I wish neither to see nor hear more of you.” The abbé saw that it was necessary to obey, he therefore bowed and retired. Two hours afterwards he sent me the sum which I had asked of him for my brother-in-law, accompanied by a most humble and contrite letter. Certainly, had I only listened to the inspiration of my heart, I should have sent back the money without touching it, and the epistle without reading it; but my heroism did not suit comte Jean, who chanced to be present. “Take it, take it,” cried he; “the only way of punishing a miscreant, is to break his purse-strings. He would, indeed, have the laugh on his side were your fit of anger to change into a fit of generosity; besides, this may be the last we shall ever see.”