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Updated: June 22, 2025
I believe most persons have felt the fascination of looking at an interior illuminated with fire and candle, as one stands without, and so, unconsciously, I stood and watched Francezka and Gaston Cheverny. The room presented that charming, luxurious and comfortable air which always distinguished it. A fire was burning on the hearth, and a table with candles and books on it, was drawn up.
I had seen the seamy side of human nature often too often. I had seen the rapine of camps, the iniquities of a great city; but this action of Jacques Haret's shone hideous alongside all I had ever known. Gaston Cheverny continued, his wrath and disgust speaking in his face and voice. "I wondered why Jacques Haret should remain in Brabant. I allowed him to stay at my house may God forgive me!
To all of Monsieur Voltaire's fine speeches of welcome, therefore, they returned only demure curtsies and seated themselves quietly on the sofa. Gaston Cheverny was not a whit behind Monsieur Voltaire in his compliments. Jacques Haret looked keenly at us, and it flashed through me that he alone suspected who the ladies were. But he said no word.
For myself all places were alike to me, provided I was with Count Saxe or with Francezka. I hoped eagerly that Francezka would send for me, knowing that would mean some clue to Gaston Cheverny, but she did not. I had from her three letters, however, in which her soul shone forth. In the spring of 1738 we were at Paris again.
Francezka rose and made a signal to Madame Villars that it was time to depart. All rose. Francezka, advancing to the table, took up the pen and in her clear, bold handwriting, wrote on a slip of paper: Jacques Haret: Do not you dare to come to Capello. Francezka Cheverny de Capello del Medina y Kirkpatrick.
Certainly I had never at any time seen her look so beautiful or so winning as in this, her day of triumph. She disarmed envy by a silent appeal for forgiveness that she was so much happier than most of the children of men. No woman ever lived who knew better how to be splendid than Francezka Cheverny, and she and all about her were very splendid on this night.
The highway was choked with coaches and baggage-wagons and horsemen and horsewomen, and the inns on the roads that led from Radewitz were like camps, so many persons being forced to lodge out of doors. Count Saxe and myself, with Gaston Cheverny and faithful Beauvais, the valet, and other servants, scarcely slept in a bed from the time we left Radewitz until we reached Brussels.
The very night of our arrival there, Gaston Cheverny turned up; and with him was his brother, Regnard. Regnard, as usual, was handsome, smooth, well dressed and well equipped with horses and servants to make a good appearance at Radewitz.
Then I saw a figure approaching, hatless and unpowdered, and wrapped in a bed coverlet. It was Count Saxe. He had not gone to sleep, and hearing through his open window Jacques Haret's tale, had sprung from his bed and rushed into the garden. Next to Francezka, Count Saxe, of all the world, wished Gaston Cheverny to be found for reasons easily understood.
Many nights, after a hard day's pleasuring, a great supper party and a ball afterward, did Gaston Cheverny keep us up until almost daylight telling us these things. Nor was he over ready to do it, but being courteously pressed by Count Saxe, or other gentlemen, he would tell us what we wished to hear. Sometimes Francezka listened to these recitals, listened with a glorified face.
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