“‘I was now really perplexed and angry, and by a violent shake awoke the Duke, who, torn thus rudely from his well-earned slumber, seemed even more astonished than myself. The door was open, the steps let down, and the gold-lace varlets waiting patiently our determination to alight. The situation was most embarrassing; there was a great deal of hurry and bustle in the interior of the Pavillon, a running to and fro in the vestibule, and a great calling of “Clarisse” and “Marianne.” It was evident that our arrival had been already perceived, and had already caused a certain sensation. I was determined, however, not to lend myself to the folly of my tipsy friend, and bade the coachman, in a peremptory tone, to use no delay in turning his horses, and conveying us back to Paris; although feeling myself compelled, from the courtesy due to the fair sex, much against my inclination, to give some token of my visit; I left my name, with inquiries after the health of Madame la Comtesse, and regrets that business in Paris prevented my alighting to pay her a visit in person. To this d’Aiguillon, who had been sleeping off, in some degree, the fumes of the past night, offered no objection. He had, no doubt, recovered his senses sufficiently to perceive that he was not in a fit state, either _au moral_ or _au physique_, to appear before the lady, and therefore, to my great delight, remained silent. We had once more gained the great gate of the park, and were waiting while the _concierge_ was opening to it to let us pass out, when we were overtaken by one of the countess’s pages, who came running, panting and breathless, to request, on the part of his mistress, as a great favour, that we would return, as she would be quite unhappy at the idea of losing my visit. Of course there was no possibility of refusal, and we were forced to turn back, myself in no very pleasant mood, as you may imagine, and even d’Aiguillon, whose impudence equalled that of Don Juan himself, rather subdued as the moment of trial drew nigh. “‘We were ushered into a saloon on the ground-floor, looking into the garden, where Madame Dubarri was waiting with evident impatience. I was indeed quite overcome, almost to embarrassment, by the eagerness of welcome with which she received me, and the evident delight with which she accepted the introduction of my young friend. Poor Dubarri! the days were gone when her _salons_ were crowded with the _élite_ of the court, when her boudoir was the rendezvous of all that was elegant and _distingué_ in the capital. The solitude in which she lived at the Pavilion, for which she was so unfit, formed a strange contrast to the crowded gallery at Versailles, where I had seen her last.