army eighteen thousand men."

How the devil the fellow knew this, I can not tell.

"He also has the right of raising taxes with the consent of the
Diet--and if the Diet is handsomely treated, taxes can be raised as
high as the moon. And more."

Here he paused, and looked about him solemnly. Everybody was on the
broad grin, except Count Saxe, Mademoiselle Lecouvreur and myself. I
had almost gnawed my under lip off.

"The Duke of Courland is also pope. He is _summus episcopus_--which is
Pope of Courland."

At this--will it be believed?--there was, in spite of Count Saxe's
presence there, a shout of laughter. When it subsided a little, I, who
had not laughed at all, had something to say.

"Monsieur Voltaire," said I, "I have good news, great news for you.
This day, in the garden of the Tuileries, I saw two persons--nay, two
personages--that, it is well known, you have often expressed a strong
desire to see. Both of them were inquiring about you."

Monsieur Voltaire pricked up his ears; it was well-known that he loved
the society of the great. As for myself, the company listened to me,
because they had never known me to open my mouth before, at supper,
except to put something in it.

"Ah," said Monsieur Voltaire, putting his snuff-box in his pocket, and
speaking debonairly. "It was probably Cardinal Fleury--and the Duc de
Bourbon. I have reason to know they would like to make peace with me;
but it must be peace on my terms, not theirs!"

"No, Monsieur," I replied. "They were the Duc de Rohan and Monsieur
Beauregard!"

Now, these were the two men who had each caused Voltaire a caning, and
whom he had been burning to meet for revenge. When I spoke their
names there was a pause--Monsieur Voltaire's eyes lighted up like two
volcanoes. He turned on me a look that would have split a barrel, but
did not make me wink an eyelash. Then there was a shout, a brawl of
laughter, that rang to the ceiling and made the girandoles dance. I
think what made the company laugh so was the notion that I, Babache,
captain of Uhlans, should measure my wit against Monsieur Voltaire's,
and whether it were wit at all or not mattered little, for it served
its purpose; it drove Monsieur Voltaire away from the supper table. He
glared at the laughing faces about him, sat still a moment, then
rising, with a half bow, half scowl at Mademoiselle Lecouvreur,
stalked out of the room. It was well known that, like most wits, he
bore ridicule extreme