h a violent colic,
he died, unhappily for me, in a few hours. The Abbe then proposed
himself to supply his place. There was no other preceptor near at hand,
so the Abbe remained with my son, and assumed so adroitly the language of
an honest man that I took him for one until my son's marriage; then it
was that I discovered all his knavery. I had a strong regard for him,
because I thought he was tenderly attached to my son, and only desired to
promote his advantage; but when I found that he was a treacherous person,
who thought only of his own interest, and that, instead of carefully
trying to preserve my son's honour, he plunged him into ruin by
permitting him to give himself up to debauchery without seeming to
perceive it, then my esteem for this artful priest was changed into
disgust. I know, from my son himself, that the Abbe, having one day met
him in the street, just as he was about to enter a house of ill-fame, did
nothing but laugh at him, instead of taking him by the arm and leading
him home again. By this culpable indulgence, and by the part he took in
my son's marriage, he has proved that there is neither faith nor honesty
in him. I know that I do him no wrong in suspecting him to have
contributed to my son's marriage; what I say I have from my son himself,
and from people who were living with that old Maintenon at the time, when
the Abbe used to go nightly for the purpose of arranging that intrigue
with her, the object of which was to sell and betray his master. He
deceives himself if he fancies that I do not know all this. At first he
had declared in my favour, but after the old woman had sent for him two
or three times he suddenly changed his conduct. It was not, however, on
this that the King afterwards took a dislike to him, but for a nefarious
scheme in which he was engaged with the Pere La Chaise. Monsieur was as
much vexed as I. The King and the old woman threatened to dismiss all
his favourites, which made him consent to everything; he repented
afterwards, but it was then too late.

I would to God that the Abbe Dubois had as much religion as he has
talent! but he believes in nothing--he is treacherous and wicked--his
falsehood may be seen in his very eyes. He has the look of a fox; and
his device is an animal of this sort, creeping out of his hole and
watching a fowl. He is unquestionably a good scholar, talks well, and
has instructed my son well; but I wish he had ceased to visit his pupil
after his t