At length he rose, and requesting my pardon
for absenting himself, he added, "My wife will have the honour
to entertain you whilst I am away." With these words he opened
a small glass-door, and disappeared in the neighbouring room.
When we were alone with Therese, she lost no time in opening
the conversation.
"Madam," cried she, "I trust you will have the goodness to excuse
M. Rousseau; he is very unwell; it is really extremely vexatious."
I replied that M. Rousseau had made his own excuses. Just then
Therese, wishing to give herself the appearance of great utility,
cried out,
"Am I wanted there, M. Rousseau?"
"No, no, no," replied Jean Jacques, in a faint voice, which died
away as if at a distance.
He soon after re-entered the room.
"Madam," said he, "have the kindness to place your music in other
hands to copy; I am truly concerned that I cannot execute your
wishes, but I feel too ill to set about it directly."
I replied, that I was in no hurry; that I should be in Paris some
time yet, and that he might copy it at his leisure. It was then
settled that it should be ready within a week from that time;
upon which I rose, and ceremoniously saluting Therese, was
conducted to the door by M. Rousseau, whose politeness led him
to escort me thither, holding his cap in his hand. I retired,
filled with admiration, respect, and pity.
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