closed one which the Marquis de la Fayette had been kind enough to write to my father.
In spite of these precautions, I felt, a sort of fear as I entered his room, and appeared before him for the first time. We were both equally embarrassed. His clouded brow betokened a storm, not an approaching storm, however, but one that is dying away in the distance. He addressed some reproaches to me, but they were merely a matter of form, intended to keep up the appearance of paternal dignity, and mainly concerned the heavy expenses which my journey from Paris to Pierre-en-Cize, and my imprisonment there had cost him.
I very naturally observed that perhaps if he had given me all that money he would have made a better use of it, and so should I. This very sensible reflection was too much for his gravity; he quite unbent, and it was with difficulty that he could prevent himself from laughing.
At the end of two hours he was no longer the same man, his curiosity had got the better of him, and he wanted me to