I could not help regarding this woman with a feeling
of disgust; she had a horrible cough, which she told us was more
than usually troublesome on that day. I had heard of her avarice;
therefore to prevent the appearance of having called upon an
unprofitable errand, I inquired of Jean Jacques Rousseau how
much the music would cost.
"Six sous a page, madam," replied he, "is the usual price."
"Shall I, sir," asked I, "leave you any cash in hand for the
purchase of what paper you will require?"
"No, I thank you, madam," replied Rousseau, smiling; "thank
God! I am not yet so far reduced that I cannot purchase it for
you. I have a trifling annuity--"
"And you would be a much richer man," screamed Therese, "if you
would insist upon those people at the opera paying you what they
owe you." These words were accompanied with a shrug of the
shoulders, intended to convey a vast idea of her own opinion.
Rousseau made no reply; indeed he appeared to me like a frightened
child in the presence of its nurse; and I could quickly see, that
from the moment of her entering the room he had become restless
and dejected, he fidgeted on his seat, and seemed like a person
in excessive pain. At length he rose, and requesting my pardon
for absenting himself, he added, "My wife will have the honour
to entertain you whilst I am away." With these words he opened
a small glass-door, and disappeared in the neighbouring room.
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