At Strassburg I rejoined Madame Riviere and her delightful family, from whom I received a sincere and hearty welcome.  We were staying at the “Hotel de l’Esprit,” and we passed a few days there most pleasurably, afterwards setting out in an excellent travelling carriage for Paris the Only, Paris the Universal.  During the journey I thought myself bound to the expense of making it a pleasant one, as I had not to put my hand in my pocket for other expenses.  The charms of Mdlle.  Riviere enchanted me, but I should have esteemed myself wanting in gratitude and respect to this worthy family if I had darted at her a single amorous glance, or if I had let her suspect my feelings for her by a single word.  In fact I thought myself obliged to play the heavy father, though my age did not fit me for the part, and I lavished on this agreeable family all the care which can be given in return for pleasant society, a seat in a comfortable travelling carriage, an excellent table, and a good bed.

We reached Paris on the 5th of January, 1757, and I went to the house of my friend Baletti, who received me with open arms, and assured me that though I had not written he had been expecting me, since he judged that I would strive to put the greatest possible distance between myself and Venice, and he could think of no other retreat for me than Paris.  The whole house kept holiday when my arrival became known, and I have never met with more sincere regard than in that delightful family.  I greeted with enthusiasm the father and mother, whom I found exactly the same as when I had seen them last in 1752, but I was struck with astonishment at the daughter whom I had left a child, for she was now a tall and well-shaped girl.  Mdlle.  Baletti was fifteen years old, and her mother had brought her up with care, had given her the best masters, virtue, grace, talents, a good manner, tact, a knowledge of society-in short, all that a clever mother can give to a dear daughter.

After finding a pleasant lodging near the Baletti’s, I took a coach and went to the “Hotel de Bourbon” with the intention of calling on M. de Bernis, who was then chief secretary for foreign affairs.  I had good reasons for relying on his assistance.  He was out; he had gone to Versailles.  At Paris one must go sharply to work, and, as it is vulgarly but forcibly said, “strike while the iron’s hot.”  As I was impatient to see what kind of a reception I should get from the liberal-minded lover of my fair M——­ M——­, I went to the Pont-Royal, took a hackney coach, and went to Versailles.  Again bad luck!

Our coaches crossed each other on the way, and my humble equipage had not caught his excellency’s eye.  M. de Bernis had returned to Paris with Count de Castillana, the ambassador from Naples, and I determined to return also; but when I got to the gate I saw a mob of people running here and there in the greatest confusion, and from all sides I heard the cry, “The king is assassinated!  The king is assassinated!”