"Good," said he, "it is about a lady, is it? It is from a personage
fully as important, a giant in power, whose words resound from
one extremity of Europe to another, and whom the Choiseuls
believe their own entirely."
"It is M. de Voltaire," I said.
"Exactly so: your perspicacity has made you guess it."
"But what does he want with me?"
"To be at peace with you; to range himself under your banner,
secretly at first, but afterwards openly."
"Is he then afraid openly to evince himself my friend?" I replied,
in a tone of some pique.
"Rather so, and yet you must not feel offended at that. The
situation of this sarcastic and talented old man is very peculiar;
his unquiet petulance incessantly gives birth to fresh perils. He,
of necessity, must make friends in every quarter, left and right,
in France and foreign countries. The necessary consequence is,
that he cannot follow a straight path. The Choiseuls have served
him with perfect zeal: do not be astonished if he abandon them
when they can no longer serve him. If they fall, he will bid them
good evening, and will sport your cockade openly."
"But," I replied, "this is a villainous character."
"Ah, I do not pretend to introduce to you an Aristides or an
Epaminondas, or any other soul of similar stamp. He is a man of
letters, full of wit, a deep thinker, a superior genius, and our
reputations are in his hands.
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