formed then, and even sooner than I desired, for all this bustle was by no means convenient to a person in ill health, particularly to one of my humor.  Curiosity renders these vixens extremely insinuating; they accomplish their design of becoming acquainted with a man by endeavoring to turn his brain, and this was precisely what happened to me.  Madam du Colombier was too much surrounded by her young gallants to have any opportunity of paying much attention to me; besides, it was not worthwhile, as we were to separate in so short a time; but Madam de Larnage (less attended to than her young friend) had to provide herself for the remainder of the journey; behold me, then, attacked by Madam de Larnage, and adieu to poor Jean Jacques, or rather farewell to fever, vapors, and polypus; all completely vanished when in her presence.  The ill state of my health was the first subject of our conversation; they saw I was indisposed, knew I was going to Montpelier, but my air and manner certainly did not exhibit the appearance of a libertine, since it was clear by what followed they did not suspect I was going there for a reason that carries many that road.

In the morning they sent to inquire after my health and invite me to take chocolate with them, and when I made my appearance asked how I had passed the night.  Once, according to my praiseworthy custom of speaking without thought, I replied, “I did not know,” which answer naturally made them conclude I was a fool:  but, on questioning me further; the examination turned out so far to my advantage, that I rather rose in their opinion, and I once heard Madam du Colombier say to her friend, “He is amiable, but not sufficiently acquainted with the world.”  These words were a great encouragement, and assisted me in rendering myself agreeable.

As we became more familiar, it was natural to give each other some little account of whence we came and who we were:  this embarrassed me greatly, for I was sensible that in good company and among women of spirit, the very name of a new convert would utterly undo me.  I know not by what whimsicallity I resolved to pass for an Englishman; however, in consequence of that determination I gave myself out for a Jacobite, and was readily believed.  They called me Monsieur Dudding, which was the name I assumed with my new character, and a cursed Marquis Torignan, who was one of the company, an invalid like myself, and both old and ill —­tempered, took it in his head to begin a long conversation with me.  He spoke of King James, of the Pretender, and the old court of St. Germain’s; I sat on thorns the whole time, for I was totally unacquainted with all these except what little I had picked up in the account of Earl Hamilton, and from the gazettes; however, I made such fortunate use of the little I did know as to extricate myself from this dilemma, happy in not being questioned on the English language, which I did not know a single word of.