Madame de Flahaut was a very charming member of the class who, neither toiling nor spinning, were supported in luxury by those who did both, and who died from want while so doing. At this very time, while France was rapidly drifting into bankruptcy, the fraudulent pensions given to a horde of courtiers, titled placemen, well-born harlots and their offspring, reached the astounding total of two hundred and seventy odd millions of livres. The assembly passed a decree cutting away these pensions right and left, and thereby worked sad havoc in the gay society that nothing could render serious but immediate and pressing poverty,--not even the loom of the terror ahead, growing darker moment by moment. Calling on his fascinating little friend immediately after the decree was published, Morris finds her "_au désespoir_, and she intends to cry very loud, she says.... She has been in tears all day. Her pensions from Monsieur and the Comte d'Artois are stopped. On that from the king she receives but three thousand francs,--and must therefore quit Paris. I try to console her, but it is impossible. Indeed, the stroke is severe; for, with youth, beauty, wit, and every loveliness, she must quit all she loves, and pass her life with what she abhors." In the time of adversity Morris stood loyally by the friends who had treated him so kindly when the world was a merry one, and things went well with them. He helped them in every way possible; his time and his purse were always at their service; and he performed the difficult feat of giving pecuniary assistance with a tact and considerate delicacy that prevented the most sensitive from taking offense.
He early became acquainted with the Duchess of Orleans, wife of Philippe Egalité, the vicious voluptuary of liberal leanings and clouded character. He met her at the house of an old friend, Madame de Chastellux. At first he did not fancy her, and rather held himself aloof, being uncertain "how he would get on with royalty." The duchess, however, was attracted by him, asked after him repeatedly, made their mutual friends throw them together, and finally so managed that he became one of her constant visitors and attendants. This naturally flattered him, and he remained sincerely loyal to her always afterwards. She was particularly anxious that he should be interested in her son, then a boy, afterwards destined to become the citizen king,--not a bad man, but a mean one, and rather an unkingly king even for the nineteenth century, fertile though it has been in ignoble royalty. Morris's further dealings with this precious youth will have to be considered hereafter.