assurance as simplicity, was that it did not contain a syllable of truth.
It was clear to me that he who spoke so positively of the rehearsal had
not been at it, because, without knowing him, he had before his eyes that
author whom he said he had seen and examined so minutely. However, what
was more singular still in this scene, was its effect upon me. The
officer was a man rather in years, he had nothing of the appearance of a
coxcomb; his features appeared to announce a man of merit; and his cross
of Saint Louis, an officer of long standing. He interested me:
notwithstanding his impudence. Whilst he uttered his lies, I blushed,
looked down, and was upon thorns; I, for some time, endeavored within
myself to find the means of believing him to be in an involuntary error.
At length, trembling lest some person should know me, and by this means
confound him, I hastily drank my chocolate, without saying a word, and,
holding down my head, I passed before him, got out of the coffee-house as
soon as possible, whilst the company were making their remarks upon the
relation that had been given. I was no sooner in the street than I was
in a perspiration, and had anybody known and named me before I left the
room, I am certain all the shame and embarrassment of a guilty person
would have appeared in my countenance, proceeding from what I felt the
poor man would have had to have suffered had his lie been discovered.

I come to one of the critical moments of my life, in which it is
difficult to do anything more than to relate, because it is almost
impossible that even narrative should not carry with it the marks of
censure or apology. I will, however, endeavor to relate how and upon
what motives I acted, with out adding either approbation or censure.

I was on that day in the same careless undress as usual, with a long
beard and wig badly combed. Considering this want of decency as an act
of courage, I entered the theatre wherein the king, queen, the royal