"
"What?"
"She has stipulations unlimited."
"But what are they then?"
"A hundred thousand livres for herself."
"What, only that? We will grant so much."
"Then a regiment for her son."
"Oh, he is the wood they make colonels of, and if he behave well--"
"But then! She wishes to be annexed in some station or other to
the household of the future
."
"Oh, that is impossible: all the selections have been made: but
we will make an equivalent by placing one of her family about the
person of one of the princes, my grandson. Is this all?"
"Yes, sire, that is all, with one small formality excepted. This
lady, who is one of much punctilio, only considers
engagements as binding. She wishes for one word in your
majesty's hand-writing--"
"A most impertinent woman!" cried the king, walking with rapid
strides up and down my room.-- "She has dared not to believe me
on my word! Writing!--signature! She mistrusts me as she would
the lowest scribbler of France. A writing! My signature! My
grandfather, Louis XIV, repented having given his to Charost. I
will not commit a similar error."
"But, sire, when a prince has a real desire to keep his word, it
is of little import whether he gives it in writing."
At these words, Louis XV frowned sternly, but as he had the best
sense in the world, he saw that he was wrong; and having no reply
to make, he determined to flee away.
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