occasion presented itself, which I fortunately made use of.  A great dinner was given; and I saw, with astonishment, for the first time, the maitre d’ hotel waiting at table, with a sword by his side, and hat on his head.  By chance, the discourse turned on the motto of the house of Solar, which was, with the arms, worked in the tapestry:  ‘Tel fiert qui ne fue pas’.  As the Piedmontese are not in general very perfect in the French language, they found fault with the orthography, saying, that in the word fiert there should be no ‘t’.  The old Count de Gauvon was going to reply, when happening to cast his eyes on me, he perceived I smiled without daring to say anything; he immediately ordered me to speak my opinion.  I then said, I did not think the ‘t’ superfluous, ‘fiert’ being an old French word, not derived from the noun ‘ferus’, proud, threatening; but from the verb ‘ferit’, he strikes, he wounds; the motto, therefore, did not appear to mean, some threat, but, ‘Some strike who do not kill’.  The whole company fixed their eyes on me, then on each other, without speaking a word; never was a greater degree of astonishment; but what most flattered me, was an air of satisfaction which I perceived on the countenance of Mademoiselle de Breil.  This scornful lady deigned to cast on me a second look at least as valuable as the former, and turning to her grandfather, appeared to wait with impatience for the praise that was due to me, and which he fully bestowed, with such apparent satisfaction, that it was eagerly chorused by the whole table.  This interval was short, but delightful in many respects; it was one of those moments so rarely met with, which place things in their natural order, and revenge depressed merit for the injuries of fortune.  Some minutes after Mademoiselle de Breil again raised her eyes, desiring me with a voice of timid affability to give her some drink.  It will easily be supposed I did not let her wait, but advancing towards her, I was seized with such a trembling, that having filled the glass too full, I spilled some of the water on her plate, and even on herself.  Her brother asked me, giddily, why I trembled thus?  This question increased my confusion, while the face of Mademoiselle de Breil was suffused with a crimson blush.

Here ended the romance; where it may be remarked (as with Madam Basile, and others in the continuation of my life) that I was not fortunate in the conclusion of my amours.  In vain I placed myself in the antechamber of Madam de Breil, I could not obtain one mark of attention from her daughter; she went in and out without looking at me, nor had I the confidence to raise my eyes to her; I was even so foolishly stupid, that one day, on dropping her glove as she passed, instead of seizing and covering it with kisses, as I would gladly have done, I did not dare to quit my place, but suffered it to be taken up by a great booby of a footman, whom I could willingly have knocked down for his officiousness.  To complete my timidity, I perceived I had not the good fortune to please Madam de Breil; she not only never ordered, but even rejected, my services; and having twice found me in her antechamber, asked me, dryly, “If I had nothing to do?” I was obliged, therefore, to renounce this dear antechamber; at first it caused me some uneasiness, but other things intervening, I presently thought no more of it.