“I only met Robespierre in society once,” said the King to me. “It was at a place called Mignot, near Poissy, which still exists. It belonged to a wealthy cloth manufacturer of Louviers, named M. DecrÉteau. It was in ninety-one or two. M. DecrÉteau one day invited me to dinner at Mignot. I went. When the time came we took our places at table. The other guests were Robespierre and PÉtion, but I had never before seen Robespierre. Mirabeau aptly traced his portrait in a word when he said that his face was suggestive of that of ‘a cat drinking vinegar.’ He was very gloomy, and hardly spoke. When he did let drop a word from time to time, it was uttered sourly and with reluctance. He seemed to be vexed at having come, and because I was there.

“In the middle of the dinner, PÉtion, addressing M. DecrÉteau, exclaimed: ‘My dear host, you must get this buck married!’ He pointed to Robespierre.

“‘What do you mean, PÉtion?’ retorted Robespierre.

“‘Mean,’ said PÉtion, ‘why, that you must get married. I insist upon marrying you. You are full of sourness, hypochondria, gall, bad humour, biliousness and atrabiliousness I am fearful of all this on our account. What you want is a woman to sweeten this sourness and transform you into an easy-going old fogey.’

“Robespierre tossed his head and tried to smile, but only succeeded in making a grimace. It was the only time,” repeated the King, “that I met Robespierre in society. After that I saw him in the tribune of the Convention. He was wearisome to a supreme degree, spoke slowly, heavily and at length, and was more sour, more gloomy, more bitter than ever. It was easy to see that PÉtion had not married him.”