ter and a little friend were dressed as pages and bore antique vases. A canopy hung over the table, the guests
were posed in picturesque attitudes, and those who arrived later were arrested at the door of the supper-room with surprise and delight.
It was as if they had been transported to another clime. A Greek song was chanted to the accompaniment of a lyre, and when the honey, grapes, and other dishes were served à la Grecque, the enchantment was complete. The poet recited odes from Anacreon and all passed off delightfully.
The fame of this novel supper was spread over Paris, and marvellous tales were told of its magnificence and its cost. Mme. Le Brun writes: "Some ladies asked me to repeat this pleasantry. I refused for various reasons, and several of them were disturbed by my refusal. Soon a report that the supper had cost me twenty thousand francs was spread abroad. The King spoke of it as a joke to the Marquis of Cubières, who fortunately had been one of the guests and was able to convince His Majesty of the folly of such a story. Nevertheless, the modest sum of twenty thousand at Versailles became forty thousand at Rome; at Vienna the Baroness de Strogonoff told me that I had spent sixty thousand francs for my Greek supper; you know that at Petersburg the price at length was fixed at eighty thousand francs, and the truth is that it cost me about fifteen francs!"
Early in 1789, when the warnings of the horrors about to take place began to be heard, Mme. Le Brun went to Italy. In each city that she visited she was received with
