The majority of those who had spoken before me made signs that I was right, but did not speak again.  Others were against me.  M. le Duc d’Orleans promised the liberation of the prisoners, broke Courson’s!, ordonnance, and all which had followed it; said that as for the rest, he would take care these people should be well recompensed, and Courson well blamed; that he merited worse, and, but for his father, would have received it.  As we were about to rise, I said it would be as well to draw up the decree at once, and M. le Duc d’Orleans approved.  Noailles pounced, like a bird of prey, upon paper and ink, and commenced writing.  I bent down and read as he wrote.  He stopped and boggled at the annulling of the ordonnance, and the prohibition against issuing one again without authorisation by edict or decree of council.  I dictated the clause to him; he looked at the company as though questioning all eyes.

“Yes,” said I, “it was passed like that—­you have only to ask again.”  M. le Duc d Orleans said, “Yes.”  Noailles wrote.  I took the paper, and read what he had written.  He received it back in fury, cast it among the papers pell-mell into his bag, then shoved his stool almost to the other end of the room, and went out, bristling like a wild boar, without looking at or saluting anybody—­we all laughing.  M. le Duc and several others came to me, and with M. le Comte de Toulouse, were much diverted.  M. de Noailles had, in fact, so little command over himself, that, in turning to go out, he struck the table, swearing, and saying he could endure it no longer.

I learnt afterwards, by frequenters of the Hotel de Noailles, who told it to my friends, that when he reached home he went to bed:  and would not see a soul; that fever seized him, that the next day he was of a frightful temper, and, that he had been heard to say he could no longer endure the annoyances I caused him.  It may be imagined whether or not this softened me.  The Duc de Noailles had, in fact, behaved towards me with such infamous treachery, and such unmasked impudence, that I took pleasure at all times and at all places in making him feel, and others see, the sovereign disdain I entertained for him.  I did not allow my private feelings to sway my judgment when public interests were at stake, for when I thought the Duc de Noailles right, and this often occurred, I supported him; but when I knew him to be wrong, or when I caught him neglecting his duties, conniving at injustice, shirking inquiry, or evading the truth, I in no way spared him.  The incident just related is an illustration of the treatment he often received at my hands.  Fret, fume, stamp, storm, as he might, I cared nothing for him.  His anger to me was as indifferent as his friendship.  I despised both equally.  Occasionally he would imagine, after there had been no storm between us for some time, that I had become reconciled to him, and would make advances to me.  But the stern and terrible manner in which I met them, —­or rather refused to meet them, taking no more notice of his politeness and his compliments, than as if they made no appeal whatever to my eyes or ears,—­soon convinced him of the permanent nature of our quarrel, and drove him to the most violent rage and despair.