was touched with the candour and the noble simplicity
of the prelate. "I never doubted his virtues," replied the King,
"but I wish he would be quiet." This same Archbishop gave a pension
of fifty louis a year to the greatest scoundrel in Paris. He is
a poet, who writes abominable verses; this pension is granted
on condition that his poems are never printed. I learned this
fact from M. de Marigny, to whom he recited some of his horrible
verses one evening, when he supped with him, in company with some
people of quality. He chinked the money in his pocket. "This
is my good Archbishop's," said he, laughing; "I keep my word
with him: my poem will not be printed during my life, but I read
it. What would the good prelate say if he knew that I shared my
last quarter's allowance with a charming little opera-dancer?
'It is the Archbishop, then, who keeps me,' said she to me; 'Oh,
la! how droll that is!'" The King heard this, and was much
scandalised at it. "How difficult it is to do good!" said he.

The King came into Madame de Pompadour's room, one day, as she
was finishing dressing. "I have just had a strange adventure,"
said he: "would you believe that, in going out of my wardroom
into my bedroom, I met a gentleman face to face?" "My God! Sire,"
cried Madame, terrified. "It was nothing," replied he; "but I
confess I was greatly surprised: the man appeared speechless
with consternation. 'What do you do here?' cried I, civilly.
He threw himself on his knees, saying, 'Pardon me, Sire; and,
above all, have me searched.' He instantly emptied his pockets
himself; he pulled off his coat in the greatest agitation and
terror: at last he told me that he was cook to -----, and a friend
of Beccari, whom he came to visit; that he had mistaken the
staircase, and, finding all the doors open, he had wandered into
the room in which I found him, and which he would have instantly
left: I rang; Guimard came, and was astonished enough at finding
me tete-a-tete with a man in his shirt. He begged Guimard to go
with him into another room, and to search his whole person. After
this, the poor devil returned, and put on his coat. Guimard said
to me, 'He is certainly an honest man, and tells the truth; this
may, besides, be easily ascertained.' Another of the servants of
the palace came in, and happened to know him. 'I will answer for
this good man,' said he, 'who, moreover, makes the best _boeuf
a l'ecarlate_ in the world.' As I saw the man was so a