I laughed, and I suppose looked maliciously, for she hastily added—­“He has entirely cured me of those horrid eruptions in the face, that made my complexion like a peasant’s.”

I shrugged my shoulders.  “Oh—­he’s a quack!” I said.

“No, no,” she answered, “he is a surgeon of good reputation.  He is very clever, I assure you; and, moreover, he is an author.  He’s an excellent doctor.”

“And the other?” I enquired.

“Who?  What other?”

“The little fellow with the starched, stiff face—­looking as sour as if he had drunk verjuice.”

“Oh! he is a man of good family.  I don’t know where he comes from.  He is engaged in some business of the Cardinal’s, and it was his Eminence himself who presented him to St James.  Both parties have chosen St James for umpire; in that, you will say, the provincial has not shown much wisdom; but who can the people be who confide their interests to such a creature?  He is quiet as a lamb, and timid as a girl; but his Eminence courts him—­for the matter is of importance—­three hundred thousand francs, I believe.”

“He’s an attorney, then?”

“Yes,” she replied; and, after the humiliating confession, took her seat at the Faro table.

I went and threw myself in an easy chair at the fireplace; and if ever a man was astonished it was I, when I saw seated opposite me the Controller-General!  M. de Calonne looked stupified and half-asleep.  I nodded to Beaumarchais, and looked as if I wished an explanation; and the author of Figaro, or rather Figaro himself, made clear the mystery in a manner not very complimentary to Madame de St James s character, whatever it might be to her beauty.  “Oho! the minister is caught,” I thought; “no wonder the Collector lives in such style.”

It was half-past twelve before the card-tables were removed, and we sat down to supper.  We were a party of ten—­Bodard and his wife, the Controller-General, Beaumarchais, the two strangers, two handsome women whose names I will not mention, and a collector of taxes, I think a M. Lavoisier.  Of thirty who had been in the drawing-room when I entered, these were all who remained.  The supper was stupid beyond belief.  The two strangers and the Collector were intolerable bores.  I made signs to Beaumarchais to make the surgeon tipsy, while I undertook the same kind office with the attorney, who sat on my left.  As we had no other means of amusing ourselves, and the plan promised some fun, by bringing out the two interlopers and making them more ridiculous than we had found them already, M. de Calonne entered into the plot.  In a moment the three ladies saw our design, and joined in it with all their power.  The surgeon seemed very well inclined to yield; but when I had filled my neighbour’s glass for the third time, he thanked me with cold politeness, and would drink no more.  The conversation, I don’t know from what cause, had turned on the magic suppers