“But,” said I, “will the clerks of the Mint trust me with such a sum?”

“Certainly not, unless you pay them in current money or in good paper.”

“My dear sir, I have neither money nor credit to that amount.”

“Then you will certainly never make twenty thousand florins in a week.  By the way you talked yesterday I took you for a millionaire.”

“I am very sorry you were so mistaken.”

“I shall get one of my sons to transact the business to-day.”

After giving me this rather sharp lesson, M. Boaz went into his office, and I went to dress.

M. d’Afri had paid his call on me at the “Hotel d’Angleterre,” and not finding me there he had written me a letter asking me to come and see him.  I did so, and he kept me to dinner, shewing me a letter he had received from M. de Boulogne, in which he was instructed not to let me dispose of the twenty millions at a greater loss than eight per cent., as peace was imminent.  We both of us laughed at this calm confidence of the Parisian minister, while we who were in a country where people saw deeper into affairs knew that the truth was quite otherwise.

On M. d’Afri’s hearing that I was staying with a Jew, he advised me to keep my own counsel when with Jews, “because,” said he, “in business, most honest and least knavish mean pretty much the same thing.  If you like,” he added, “I will give you a letter of introduction to M. Pels, of Amsterdam.”  I accepted his offer with gratitude, and in the hope of being useful to me in the matter of my foreign shares he introduced me to the Swedish ambassador, who sent me to M. d’O——.

Wanting to be present at a great festival of Freemasons on St. John’s Day, I remained at the Hague till the day after the celebration.  The Comte de Tot, brother of the baron, who lost all his money at the seraglio, and whom I had met again at the Hague, introduced me.  I was not sorry to be in company with all the best society in Holland.

M. d’Afri introduced me to the mother of the stadtholder, who was only twelve, and whom I thought too grave for his years.  His mother was a worthy, patient kind of woman, who fell asleep every minute, even while she was speaking.  She died shortly after, and it was discovered at the postmortem examination that she had a disease of the brain which caused her extreme propensity to sleep.  Beside her I saw Count Philip de Zinzendorf, who was looking for twelve millions for the empress—­a task which was not very difficult, as he offered five per cent. interest.

At the play I found myself sitting next to the Turkish minister, and I thought he would die with laughter before my eyes.  It happened thus: 

They were playing Iphigenia, that masterpiece of Racine’s.  The statue of Diana stood in the midst of the stage, and at the end of one act Iphigenia and her train of priestesses, while passing before it, all made a profound bow to the goddess.  The candlesnuffer, who perhaps may have been a bad wit, crossed the stage just after wards, and likewise bowed to the goddess.  This put pit and boxes in a good humour, and peals of laughter sounded from all parts of the house.  All this had to be explained to the Turk, and he fell into such a fit of laughter that I thought he would burst.  At last he was carried to his inn still laughing but almost senseless.