part as
easy as possible to him. This point settled, Madame Riano proposed
that we should travel together through Germany, and on reaching
Brabant we should stop and rest ourselves for a month before going to
Paris.

"For," she said to Count Saxe, "let them in Paris get done with their
lampooning and verses and jokes upon you, Maurice of Saxe. I wager
that long-legged, lightning-eyed Voltaire will have something to say
about you, before you get to Paris. But give those Paris people one
month, and they will forget all about you."

To which, Count Saxe, grinding his teeth, was obliged to agree. It was
certainly true that Arouet, the notary's son, would crack some of his
infernal jokes upon our unhappy expedition. Then Madame Riano urged us
to stop at Capello, which was directly upon our road from Brussels to
Paris. Mademoiselle Capello, from the time she had first fallen into
our hands, had never ceased to picture the pleasure she would one day
have of our company at her chateau of Capello, and so Count Saxe
thankfully accepted Madame Riano's invitation. Gaston Cheverny's
house, a simple manor house, was in sight of the chateau of Capello,
as Gaston had told us many times, while Castle Haret, which Regnard
had so cleverly acquired, was some distance away.

We spent four days in Koenigsberg before the remainder of our poor
fellows caught up with us. Count Saxe, on their arrival, harangued
them, and promised to take them all into his service at Paris, where
he proposed to buy a regiment. He gave them their wages and something
handsome besides, provided the officers with money and horses, and
they took their several ways, to meet at Paris the first of the year
1728.

Koenigsberg is a quaint place--I have seen few quainter in my time. It
was explored thoroughly by Madame Riano, Mademoiselle Capello, and the
two Chevernys. Regnard's errand became plainer every day, but plainly,
also, it was not well received by Francezka. She had the art, in a
remarkable degree, of combining perfect civility with the most
discouraging coldness. I have often noticed that women need but little
training or experience in the way of treating men. They seem to divine
it all. This young girl had already mastered the whole art of managing
the other sex, and she had scarcely passed her sixteenth birthday. She
seemed to graduate her kindness by a novel rule. She was most sweet to
me in words and looks, calling me her good Babache. To Gaston
Chever