“‘Just as I reached the gate, I perceived the royal hunt dashing down the side of the hill, and was glad to conceal myself behind the wall until the _cortège_ had passed by, ashamed of being seen issuing from the dwelling of Madame Dubarri, although well aware that there was not one of those dainty courtiers, who now passed by with head averted and with eyes cast down, who had not thought it the greatest honour, but a short time before, to be admitted within the walls of that self-same Pavillon, which they seemed now to shun with such disdain. This circumstance would be too trifling to mention, were it not for the _moral_ it contains; finer, because _true_, than all those which flourish just above the vignette at the close of the “_Contes Moraux_” of Marmontel, or those “_dédiés à la Jeunesse_” by Madame de Genlis.’ “M. de Talleyrand paused, with that peculiar smile on his countenance which those who live in his intimacy, know so well, as being meant to fill the place of some satirical trait which he does not choose to utter at the time, but which is not wholly lost notwithstanding. “‘Yes, this was the last time I ever beheld the Comtesse Dubarri, _ex-maîtresse en titre_. As for d’Aiguillon, so enchanted did he seem with his new acquaintance, that, from that day forward, he spent a great portion of his time at the Pavillon; and, when I rallied him upon the attraction which seemed so irresistible, and reminded him of Ninon de L’Enclos and Diane de Poitiers, he shrugged his shoulders, and answered me with the greatest coolness—“_Que voulez-vous, mon cher?_ where on earth could I go to get such exquisite Tokay as that which the old fool, King Casimir, sent as a present to Louis XIV.?” By this I judged, when his absences became less frequent, that the Tokay was drawing to a close, and when they ceased altogether, that it had totally disappeared. _Autre moralité!_ as dear old Perrault has it at the end of his fairy tales.’ “The prince paused again more thoughtfully, and added, ‘Alas! it makes one’s heart ache to remember the sad fate which befel both of those gay, light-hearted individuals. The one died upon the scaffold for having sold her jewels (the jewels she had shewn me with such pride as the gifts of poor dear “France”) to send the money which the sale produced to the _émigré noblesse_—that _noblesse_ who had treated her with such scorn—with such contempt! The other met a death more frightful still—the gay, the witty, the high-born d’Aiguillon fled to Holland, and perished there, they say, of misery and _starvation_!’