which, in my eyes, totally changed his physiognomy, and which has since frequently occurred to my mind.  I cannot better compare this smile than to that of Panurge purchasing the Sheep of Dindenaut.  Our acquaintance had begun a little time after my arrival at the Hermitage, to which place he frequently came to see me.  I was already settled at Montmorency when he left it to go and reside at Paris.  He often saw Madam le Vasseur there.  One day, when I least expected anything of the kind, he wrote to me in behalf of that woman, informing me that Grimm offered to maintain her, and to ask my permission to accept the offer.  This I understood consisted in a pension of three hundred livres, and that Madam le Vasseur was to come and live at Deuil, between the Chevrette and Montmorency.  I will not say what impression the application made on me.  It would have been less surprising had Grimm had ten thousand livres a year, or any relation more easy to comprehend with that woman, and had not such a crime been made of my taking her to the country, where, as if she had become younger, he was now pleased to think of placing her.  I perceived the good old lady had no other reason for asking my permission, which she might easily have done without, but the fear of losing what I already gave her, should I think ill of the step she took.  Although this charity appeared to be very extraordinary, it did not strike me so much then as afterwards.  But had I known even everything I have since discovered, I should still as readily have given my consent as I did and was obliged to do, unless I had exceeded the offer of M. Grimm.  Father Berthier afterwards cured me a little of my opinion of his good nature and cordiality, with which I had so unthinkingly charged him.

This same Father Berthier was acquainted with two men, who, for what reason I know not, were to become so with me; there was but little similarity between their taste and mine.  They were the children of Melchisedec, of whom neither the country nor the family was known, no more than, in all probability, the real name.  They were Jansenists, and passed for priests in disguise, perhaps on account of their ridiculous manner of wearing long swords, to which they appeared to have been fastened.  The prodigious mystery in all their proceedings gave them the appearance of the heads of a party, and I never had the least doubt of their being the authors of the ‘Gazette Ecclesiastique’.  The one, tall, smooth-tongued, and sharping, was named Ferrand; the other, short, squat, a sneerer, and punctilious, was a M. Minard.  They called each other cousin.  They lodged at Paris with D’Alembert, in the house of his nurse named Madam Rousseau, and had taken at Montmorency a little apartment to pass the summers there.  They did everything for themselves, and had neither a servant nor runner; each had his turn weekly to purchase provisions, do the business of the kitchen, and sweep the house.  They managed tolerably well, and