Having so convinced him, the request for him to present "the sister of a dear friend, who passed away quite young" was as nothing. I told him that she is quite pretty and has been convent-educated with hardly any movement in society. In short, that she's a delicate flower of purity and innocence in need of our protection and advancement. To my delight, he agreed. Now it only remains to get the mother to assent, but I can hardly see how she could refuse; the Duc de Bouillon is not only one of the highest personages titularly (for he may rightly call himself Prince of Sedan, should he choose), but also was for many years Grand Chamberlain.
If only my meeting with Lenoir, the Chief of Police, had gone so well. I found him quite unwilling to give me his full attention as he shuffled through papers on his desk, took communique's from anyone who desired to knock upon his door, and I had barely begun speaking when he decided it was necessary to explain to me that "justice must be permitted to run its full course". In short, I was dismissed with the distinct impression that he had not listened anymore to me than he might a fishmonger, or a child.
I did gain a glimpse of the papers upon his desk, however, and quite a few of them seemed to concern the kind of crass libel that we are daily treated to should we venture out of doors. The things they say, especially about the Queen and King, are no less than treasonous, and I have yet to see one that was not also viciously perverse. I'm not sure there is any way to use this knowledge to my advantage, but I will record it for the present in case it should become so.
I have not yet discovered a way to meet naturally with Msr. Lavoisier or his wife. I do have a visit with the dowager Countess of Rodez to look forward to tomorrow, and hopefully my note to her daughter, the young Clementine, will have some effect.