They called me Monsieur Dudding,
which was the name I assumed with my new character, and a cursed
Marquis Torignan, who was one of the company, an invalid like
myself, and both old and ill-tempered, took it in his head to begin
a long conversation with me. He spoke of King James, of the Pretender,
and the old court of St. Germain's; I sat on thorns the whole time,
for I was totally unacquainted with all these except what little I had
picked up in the account of Earl Hamilton, and from the gazettes;
however, I made such fortunate use of the little I did know, as to
extricate myself from this dilemma, happy in not being questioned on
the English language, which I did not know a single word of.
The company were all very agreeable; we looked forward to the moment
of separation with regret, and therefore made snails' journeys. We
arrived one Sunday at St. Marcellin's. Madam de Larnage would go to
mass; I accompanied her, and had nearly ruined all my affairs, for
by my modest reserved countenance during the service, she concluded me
a bigot, and conceived a very indifferent opinion of me, as I
learned from her own account two days after. It required a great
deal of gallantry on my part to efface this ill impression, or
rather Madam de Larnage (who was not easily disheartened) determined
to risk the first advances, and see how I should behave. She made
several, but far from being presuming on my figure, I thought she
was making sport of me: full of this ridiculous idea there was no
folly I was not guilty of.
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