"Mr. Ricaric," said the favorite, "I also must do something for you: in your favor I sacrifice the small resentment of my self-love; and in consideration of the recompence which Mangogul has granted to your merit, I forget the injury he has done me."
"Pray, madam, may I ask you what that injury is?" replied Mangogul.
"You may, Sir, and I will tell you. You yourself make us embark in a conversation on the Belles-Lettres: you begin by a piece of modern eloquence, which is not extraordinary; and when, to oblige you, we prepare to pursue the disagreeable argument which you have started, you are seized with uneasiness and yawning, you teize yourself in your seat, you change your posture a hundred times, without finding one easy one: tired in fine of keeping your countenance, tho' a sad one, you come to a sudden resolution, you get up and disappear: and then, whither do you go? Perhaps to give ear to a