This letter put me in an excessively ill-humor. I saw my presentation
deferred till doom's day, or, at least, adjourned
. I
questioned my friends: the unanimous advice was that I ought to
mention it to the king at one of his evening visits; and I determined
to do so without loss of time.
When his majesty came I received him very graciously, and then
said to him,
"Congratulate me, sire; I have found my godmother."
"Ah, so much the better." (I know that, at the bottom of his
heart, he said "so much the .")
"And who," asked the king, with impatience, "may the lady be?"
"Madame de Bearn, a lady of quality in her own right, and of high
nobility on her husband's side."
"Yes, he was a , and the son has just left the
pages. Ah! she will present you then. That's well; I shall
feel favored by her."
"Would it not be best, sire, to tell her so yourself?"
"Yes, yes, certainly; but after the ceremony."
"And why not previously?"
"Why? because I do not wish to appear to have forced
your presentation."
"Well, then," I replied, striking the floor with my foot, "you will
not do for me what you would do for a woman who is a complete
stranger to you. Many thanks for your excessive kindness."
"Well, well, do not scold. Anger does not become you."
"No more than this indifference suits you; it is cruel. If you
recede from saying a word, what will you do when I tell you of
the conditions of madame de Bearn?"
"What does the good comtesse ask for?"
"Things past conception.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158