I was vexed at my own stupidity, and at being unable to justify to Madam de Broglie what she had done in my favor.
After dinner I thought of my ordinary resource.

I had in my pocket an epistle in verse, written to Parisot during my residence at Lyons.

This fragment was not without some fire, which I increased by my manner of reading, and made them all three shed tears.

Whether it was vanity, or really the truth, I thought the eyes of Madam de Broglie seemed to say to her mother: "Well, mamma, was I wrong in telling you this man was fitter to dine with us than with your women ?" Until then my heart had been rather burdened, but after this revenge I felt myself satisfied.

Madam de Broglie, carrying her favorable opinion of me rather too far, thought I should immediately acquire fame in Paris, and become a favorite with fine ladies.