“Besides,” added the king, in a tone of less anger, but no less emphatically, “I see with pain that the police do not do their duty with regard to all these indignities.” “Yet,” said the duc de Duras, “M. de Sartines does wonders.” “Then why does he tolerate such insults? I will let him know my discontent.” The duc de Duras was alarmed, and kept his mouth closed. The king then, resuming his gaiety, joked the two gentlemen on their secret intrigues: then changing the conversation suddenly, he talked of the expected arrival of the king of Denmark. “Duc de Duras,” said he, “you and your son must do the office of master of ceremonies to his _Polar_ majesty. I hope you will endeavor to amuse him.” “Yes, sire.” “Mind, what you undertake is no joke. It is no easy matter to amuse a king.” This was a truth which I perceived at every moment, and our monarch was not the one to be amused with trifling exertion. Frequently when he entered my apartment he threw himself on an ottoman, and yawned most excessively, yes, yawned in my company. I had but one mode of rousing him from this apathy, but it was a sure one. I spoke of the high magistracy and its perpetual resistance to the throne. Then the king aroused, instantly sprung from his seat, traversed the room with rapid strides, and declaimed vigorously against the _black gowns_; thus he styled the parliaments. I confess, however, that I only had recourse to the “black gowns” at the last extremity. Little did I think that at a later period I should league myself against them. On the one hand, the duc d’Aiguillon hated them mortally, and on the other, the comte Jean, like a real Toulousian, would have carried them in his slippers; so that wavering between the admiration of the one and the hatred of the other, I knew not which to listen to, or which party to side with. But to return to present matters.