A Sentimental Journey Through France And Italy By Laurence Sterne

































































































 -  - C'est
une autre affaire, replied he. - Not at all, said I, to a man of
gallantry. - But pray, good sir - Page 48
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- C'est Une Autre Affaire, Replied He.

- Not at all, said I, to a man of gallantry.

- But pray, good sir, continued I, when can a stranger hope to have access? - In not less than two hours, said he, looking at his watch. The number of equipages in the court-yard seemed to justify the calculation, that I could have no nearer a prospect; - and as walking backwards and forwards in the saloon, without a soul to commune with, was for the time as bad as being in the Bastile itself, I instantly went back to my remise, and bid the coachman drive me to the Cordon Bleu, which was the nearest hotel.

I think there is a fatality in it; - I seldom go to the place I set out for.

LE PATISSIER. VERSAILLES.

Before I had got half way down the street I changed my mind: as I am at Versailles, thought I, I might as well take a view of the town; so I pull'd the cord, and ordered the coachman to drive round some of the principal streets. - I suppose the town is not very large, said I. - The coachman begg'd pardon for setting me right, and told me it was very superb, and that numbers of the first dukes and marquises and counts had hotels. - The Count de B-, of whom the bookseller at the Quai de Conti had spoke so handsomely the night before, came instantly into my mind. - And why should I not go, thought I, to the Count de B-, who has so high an idea of English books and English men - and tell him my story? so I changed my mind a second time. - In truth it was the third; for I had intended that day for Madame de R-, in the Rue St. Pierre, and had devoutly sent her word by her fille de chambre that I would assuredly wait upon her; - but I am governed by circumstances; - I cannot govern them: so seeing a man standing with a basket on the other side of the street, as if he had something to sell, I bid La Fleur go up to him, and enquire for the Count's hotel.

La Fleur returned a little pale; and told me it was a Chevalier de St. Louis selling pates. - It is impossible, La Fleur, said I. - La Fleur could no more account for the phenomenon than myself; but persisted in his story: he had seen the croix set in gold, with its red riband, he said, tied to his buttonhole - and had looked into the basket and seen the pates which the Chevalier was selling; so could not be mistaken in that.

Such a reverse in man's life awakens a better principle than curiosity: I could not help looking for some time at him as I sat in the remise: - the more I look'd at him, his croix, and his basket, the stronger they wove themselves into my brain. - I got out of the remise, and went towards him.

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