168 BAILLY. 
He will probably come to see me; he may, perhaps, 
have come already. What could I say to him? Ido 
not think any one ever wrote worse. He mistakes ob- 
security for profundity; it is the darkness before the crea- 
tion.” 
Notwithstanding all Bailly’s efforts to change the subject 
of the conversation, perhaps on account of those very 
efforts, the Marchioness rose, goes in search of the pam- 
phlet, puts it into the author’s hands, and begs of him to 
read aloud, if it be but the first page—quite enough, she 
said, to enable one to judge of the rest. 
Bailly used to read remarkably well. I leave it to be 
guessed whether, on this occasion, he was able to exercise 
this talent. Superfluous trouble! Madame de Créqui 
interrupted him at each sentence by the most disagree- 
able commentaries, by exclamations such as the following: 
“ Detestable style!” “Confusion worse confounded!” 
and other similar amenities. Bailly did not succeed in 
extorting any indulgences from Madame de Créqui, when, 
fortunately, the arrival of another visitor put an end to 
this insupportable torture. 
Two years after this, Bailly having become the first 
personage in the city, some booksellers collected all his 
opuscula and published them. This time, the Marchion- 
ess, who had lost all recollection of the scene that I have 
been describing, overpowered the Mayor of Paris with 
compliments and felicitations on account of this same 
eulogy, which she had before treated with such inhuman 
rigour. 
Such a contrast excited the mirth of the author. Still, 
might I dare to say so, Madame de Créqui was, perhaps, 
sincere on both occasions; had the exaggerations of praise 
and of criticism been put aside, it would not have been 
