The Chevalier Schaub, who was employed in State affairs by Stanhope, the English Minister, brought with him a secretary, to whom the Prince of Wales had entrusted sixty guineas, to be paid to a M. d’Isten, who had made a purchase of some lace to that amount for the Princess of Wales; the brother of M. d’Isten, then living in London, had also given the same secretary 200 guineas, to be delivered to his brother at Paris.  When the secretary arrived he enquired at the Ambassador’s where M. d’Isten lived, and, having procured his address, he went to the house and asked for the German gentleman.  A person appeared, who said, “I am he.”  The secretary suspecting nothing, gave him the Prince of Wales’ letter and the sixty guineas.  The fictitious d’Isten, perceiving that the secretary had a gold watch, and a purse containing fifty other guineas, detained him to supper; but no sooner had the secretary drank some wine than he was seized with an invincible desire to go to sleep.  “My good friend,” said his host, “your journey has fatigued you; you had better undress and lie down on my bed for a short time.”  The secretary, who could not keep his eyes open, consented; and no sooner had he lain down than he was asleep.  Some time after, his servant came to look for him, and awoke him; the bottles were still standing before the bed, but the poor secretary’s pockets were emptied, and the sharper who had personated M. d’Isten had disappeared with their valuable contents.

The Princesse Maubuisson was astonishingly pleasant and amiable.  I was always delighted to visit her, and never felt myself tired in her society.  I soon found myself in much greater favour than any other of her nieces, because I could converse with her about almost everybody she had known in the whole course of her life, which the others could not.  She used frequently to talk German with me, which she knew very well; and she told me all her adventures.  I asked her how she could accustom herself to the monastic life.  She laughed and said, “I never speak to the nuns but to give orders.”  She had a deaf nun with her in her own chamber, that she might not feel any desire to speak.  She told me that she had always been fond of a country life, and that she still could fancy herself a country girl.  “But,” I asked her, “how do you like getting up and going to church in the middle of the night?” She replied that she did as the painters do, who increase the splendour of their light by the introduction of deep shadows.  She had in general the faculty of giving to all things a turn which deprived them of their absurdity.

I have often heard M. Bernstorff spoken of by a person who was formerly very agreeable to him; I mean the Duchess of Mecklenbourg, the Duc de Luxembourg’s sister.  She praised his talents very highly, and assured me that it was she who gave him to the Duke George William.