You will never
have any worldly sense, I believe. My dear soul," said she,
stooping down and whispering in my ear, "you are surrounded by a
set of selfish wretches, who care nothing for you unless you can f
forward their interests."
"I see it, I know it," exclaimed I impatiently; "but though I
beg my bread, I will not importune the king."
"As you please," cried madame de Mirepoix, "pray do not let me
disturb your intentions. Silly woman that you are, leave others
to act the sublime and grand, your part should be that of a
reasonable creature. Look at myself, suppose I had not seized
the ball at the bound."
"You were born at Versailles," answered I, smiling in spite
of myself.
"True, and I confess that with me the greatest of all sense is
common sense, which produces that instinctive feeling of
self-preservation implanted even in animals. But is the king
indeed so very ill?"
"He is, indeed, dangerously ill."
"I am very sorry," answered she, "his majesty and myself were
such old friends and companions; but things will now be very
different, and we shall soon see the court filled with new faces,
whilst you and I, my poor countess, may hide our diminished
heads. A set of hungry wretches will drive us away from the
princely banquet at which we have so long regaled, and scarcely
will their eagerness leave us a few scattered crumbs--how dreadful!
Yes, I repeat that for many reasons, we shall have just cause for
regretting the late king.
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