ly ill, and could not stand being laughed at. As
for Count Saxe, he hugged me, and I had so many compliments made to me
that I was alarmed for fear I should be reckoned a wit.

When supper was over, Mademoiselle Lecouvreur, by a sign, indicated
that Count Saxe was to remain after the rest had left. All took their
departure, including Regnard Cheverny, who bade me a civil adieu.
Mademoiselle Lecouvreur took Count Saxe into her boudoir. I went into
the saloon, where the candles were dying in their sockets. Presently
the two came out of the boudoir. Count Saxe had a casket in his hand,
which he gave to me. His eyes were full of tears, and he was silent
from emotion. Mademoiselle was smiling--smiling when she said to him:

"Trouble not yourself about returning it. I think I shall not have use
for money much longer. I am often ill--more ill than any one
supposes--and when I leave the theater I am more dead than alive. So
give me in return but an occasional thought--a word of remembrance--it
will be enough."

Count Saxe said something--I know not what; the beauty, the touching
sweetness, the majesty of this woman's love was enough to overcome any
man. He kissed her hand and her cheek in farewell; she gave me, as
always, some kind words, and we left her, bowing to her with the
reverence due a queen.

Count Saxe said not one word to me on our way to the Luxembourg. I
believe he shed some tears as he sat back in the corner of the coach.

CHAPTER VI

ON THE BALCONY

The hour of action was at hand, however. The next day came the storm
and stress of preparation. Count Saxe was besieged with persons
wishing to go to Courland with him, chiefly gentlemen out at elbows
who had nothing to lose; men of a doubtful past, men who had failed at
everything else and thought themselves fitted to conquer a kingdom.
Out of these and others Count Saxe selected three hundred men, whom he
armed and equipped as Uhlans, and who were added to the body-guard I
had under me before. There were other troops promised, and these
Uhlans were meant to be the human rampart between Count Saxe and
harm.

Monsieur Voltaire had gone to England, his departure hastened, so
Count Saxe declared, laughing uproariously, by his dread of
encountering Babache, the rival wit.

I found time, in the midst of running about from one end of Paris to
the other, to call daily at Gaston Cheverny's lodgings and ask after
the young man. His improvement continued ra