haste, but had not
courage or talent enough to undertake the defence of the guilty person.

The king came as usual; his general station was at the chimney-piece,
where he amused himself with looking at the baubles that ornamented it.
The "_Nouvelles a la Main_" fell in his way. He read them once, then
again; then, without uttering a word, threw them into the fire. I
observed him, and saw that he was full of emotion which he sought to
conceal, but the anger burst forth soon. The prince de Soubise, who
supped with us that evening, asked the duc de Duras if he had read the
"_Gazette de France._"

"No," was the reply; "I seldom read such nonsense."

"And you are quite right," said the king. "There is at present a most
inconceivable mania for writing. What is the use, I ask you, gentlemen,
of this deluge of books and pamphlets with which France is inundated?
They only contain the spirit of rebellion: the freedom of writing ought
not to be given to every body. There should be in a well-regulated state
seven or eight writers, not more; and these under the inspection of
government. Authors are the plague of France; you will see whither they
will lead it."

The king spoke this with an animated air, and if at this moment M. de la
Vrilliere had come to ask for a _lettre de cachet_ against a writer, the
king would not have refused it.

"Besides," added the king, in a tone of less anger, but no less
emphatically, "I see with pain that the police do not do their duty with
regard to all these indignities."

"Yet," said the duc de Duras, "M. de Sartines does wonders."

"Then why does he tolerate such insults? I will let him know my
discontent."

The duc de Duras was alarmed, and kept his mouth closed. The king then,
resuming his gaiety, joked the two gentlemen on their secret intrigues:
then changing the conversation suddenly, he talked of the expected
arrival of the king of Denmark.

"Duc de Duras," said he, "you and your son must do the office of master
of ceremonies to his _Polar_ majesty. I hope you will endeavor to amuse
him."

"Yes, sire."

"Mind, what you undertake is no joke. It is no easy matter to amuse a
king."

This was a truth which I perceived at every moment, and our monarch
was not the one to be amused with trifling exertion. Frequently when
he entered my apartment he threw himself on an ottoman, and yawned most
excessively, yes, yawned in my company. I had but one mode of rousing
him from this apathy,