Argenson had often during the late reign, and sometimes since, made use of an intelligent and clever fellow, just suited to him, and named Pomereu, to make discoveries, arrest people, and occasionally keep them a short time in his own house.  The Parliament believed, and rightly, that in arresting this man under other pretexts, it would find the thread of many curious and secret tortuosities, which would aid its design, and that it might plume itself upon protecting the public safety against the tyranny of secret arrests and private imprisonments.  To carry out its aim it made use of the Chamber of justice, so as to appear as little as possible in the matter.  This Chamber hastened on so well the proceedings, for fear of being stopped on the road, that the first hint people had of them was on learning that Pomereu was, by decree of this Chamber, in the prisons of the Conciergerie, which are those of the Parliament.  Argenson, who was informed of this imprisonment immediately it took place, instantly went to the Regent, who that very moment sent a ‘lettre de cachet’, ordering Pomereu to be taken from prison by force if the gaoler made the slightest difficulty in giving him up to the bearers of the ‘lettre de cachet’; but that gentleman did not dare to make any.  The execution was so prompt that this man was not an hour in prison, and they who had sent him there had not time to seize upon a box of papers which had been transported with him to the Conciergerie, and which was very carefully carried away with him.  At the same time, everything in any way bearing upon Pomereu, or upon the things in which he had been employed, was carefully removed and secreted.

The vexation of the Parliament upon seeing its prey, which it had reckoned upon making such a grand use of, carried off before its eyes, may be imagined.  It left nothing undone in order to move the public by its complaints, and by its cries against such an attack upon law.  The Chamber of justice sent a deputation to the Regent, who made, fun of it, by gravely giving permission to the deputies to re-take their prisoner, but without saying a single word to them upon his escape from gaol.  He was in Paris, in a place where he feared nobody.  The Chamber of justice felt the derisiveness of the Regent’s permission, and ceased to transact business.  It thought to embarrass the Regent thus, but ’twould have been at its own expense.  This lasted only a day or two.  The Duc de Noailles spoke to the Chamber; the members felt they could gain nothing by their strike, and that if they were obstinate they would be dispensed with, and others found to perform their duties.  They recommenced their labours then, and the Parliament gained nothing by its attack, but only showed its ill-will, and at the same time its powerlessness.

I have forgotten something which, from its singularity, deserves recollection, and I will relate it now lest it should escape me again.