"Truly, my dear Julie, it is easy to see that you are not acquainted with M. de Létorière, since you defend him!" "We speak now of generalities, madame; but rest assured that if I were obliged to defend any one who interested me, I should do it boldly and without dissembling, when the time came," said Mlle. de Soissons, with a peculiar accent. "Oh, I know you are very courageous in that way, my dear child; your friends are truly your friends; but on the contrary, your enemies are also your enemies! You must allow me also to have my preferences and my antipathies. . . . Frankly, M. de Létorière is firmly fixed in the latter; I hate everything which savors of intrigue and concealment. This Marquis had nothing, five years ago, but his cape and sword. I ask myself how it is possible that he can now have ornaments on his coat worth twenty thousand crowns, a handsome establishment, the finest horses in the world, and is enabled to play as deeply as a large landholder?" "I believe, madame, that those who ask those questions know very well how to answer them," said Julie, dryly. "For myself, I declare to you, my dear, that I should find it very difficult," replied Madame de Rohan-Soubise, with the most natural air; . . . "but if I had the misfortune to be one of the friends of the _opulent_ M. de Létorière, I should desire nothing better for his reputation than to see him burned as a sorcerer, however incredulous I may be about the philosopher's stone." At this last sarcasm Mlle. de Soissons looked at the clock with a kind of eager impatience, but said nothing. "His magnificence is truly inconceivable," said M. de Lugeac. "It is true that some say he is fortunate at play; others affirm that the king and Madame Dubarry favor him in every way, and have gained for him two very important lawsuits; besides, it is evident that his Majesty is bewitched with him, as is all the world; and truly it may be said that everything which this Marquis touches is turned to gold. . . . If you will believe it, madame, he has brought into fashion a poor devil of a tailor, who gave him credit in his earlier days; the Marquis does not conceal it, but speaks of it quite freely. This Landry, of The Golden Scissors, whose stores are brilliant, who is now one of the richest artizans of Paris, owes his unlooked-for good fortune only to the influence of these words, repeated by all the city: '_He is the tailor of the elegant Létorière!_'" "Truly!" said Madame Rohan-Soubise, impatiently, "all these stories resemble the tales of Perrault." "They are much more like fairy tales," replied M. de Lugeac. "And then the description of his bedchamber! they say that his toilet set is entirely of gold chased by Gouttière, and enriched with precious stones." . . .