I waited vainly outside the theatre for a quarter of an hour with my sword in my hand, for I was not afraid of losing forty thousand ducats like Tomatis.  At last, half perishing with cold, I called my carriage and drove to the palatin’s, where the king was to sup.

The cold and loneliness began to cool my brain, and I congratulated myself on my self-restraint in not drawing my sword in the actress’s dressing-room; and I felt glad that Branicki had not followed me down the stairs, for his friend Bininski had a sabre, and I should probably have been assassinated.

Although the Poles are polite enough, there is still a good deal of the old leaven in them.  They are still Dacians and Samaritans at dinner, in war, and in friendship, as they call it, but which is often a burden hardly to be borne.  They can never understand that a man may be sufficient company for himself, and that it is not right to descend on him in a troop and ask him to give them dinner.

I made up my mind that Madame Binetti had excited Branicki to follow me, and possibly to treat me as he had treated Tomatis.  I had not received a blow certainly, but I had been called a coward.  I had no choice but to demand satisfaction, but I also determined to be studiously moderate throughout.  In this frame of mind I got down at the palatin’s, resolved to tell the whole story to the king, leaving to his majesty the task of compelling his favourite to give me satisfaction.

As soon as the palatin saw me, he reproached me in a friendly manner for keeping him waiting, and we sat down to tressette.  I was his partner, and committed several blunders.  When it came to losing a second game he said,—­

“Where is your head to-night?”

“My lord, it is four leagues away.”

“A respectable man ought to have his head in the game, and not at a distance of four leagues.”

With these words the prince threw down his cards and began to walk up and down the room.  I was rather startled, but I got up and stood by the fire, waiting for the king.  But after I had waited thus for half an hour a chamberlain came from the palace, and announced that his majesty could not do himself the honour of supping with my lord that night.

This was a blow for me, but I concealed my disappointment.  Supper was served, and I sat down as usual at the left hand of the palatin, who was annoyed with me, and chewed it.  We were eighteen at table, and for once I had no appetite.  About the middle of the supper Prince Gaspard Lubomirski came in, and chanced to sit down opposite me.  As soon as he saw me he condoled with me in a loud voice for what had happened.

“I am sorry for you,” said he, “but Branicki was drunk, and you really shouldn’t count what he said as an insult.”

“What has happened?” became at once the general question.  I held my tongue, and when they asked Lubomirski he replied that as I kept silence it was his duty to do the same.