amusing."

"Yes, but I am afraid there will rise up, by the side of us, a sect like
that of Epictetus, you know him well; the philosopher of Hieropolis,
he who called bread luxury, vegetables prodigality, and clear water
drunkenness; he who, being beaten by his master, said to him, grumbling
a little it is true, but without being angry, 'I will lay a wager you
have broken my leg!'--and who won his wager."

"He was a goose, that fellow Epictetus."

"Granted, but he might easily become the fashion by only changing his
name into that of Colbert."

"Bah!" replied La Fontaine, "that is impossible. Never will you find
Colbert in Epictetus."

"You are right, I shall find--Coluber there, at the most."

"Ah! you are beaten, Conrart; you are reduced to a play upon words. M.
Arnaud pretends that I have no logic; I have more than M. Nicolle."

"Yes," replied Conrart, "you have logic, but you are a Jansenist."

This peroration was hailed with a boisterous shout of laughter; by
degrees the promenaders had been attracted by the exclamations of the
two disputants around the arbor under which they were arguing. The
discussion had been religiously listened to, and Fouquet himself,
scarcely able to suppress his laughter, had given an example of
moderation. But with the denouement of the scene he threw off all
restraint, and laughed aloud. Everybody laughed as he did, and the two
philosophers were saluted with unanimous felicitations. La Fontaine,
however, was declared conqueror, on account of his profound erudition
and his irrefragable logic. Conrart obtained the compensation due to
an unsuccessful combatant; he was praised for the loyalty of his
intentions, and the purity of his conscience.

At the moment when this jollity was manifesting itself by the most
lively demonstrations, when the ladies were reproaching the two
adversaries with not having admitted women into the system of Epicurean
happiness, Gourville was seen hastening from the other end of the
garden, approaching Fouquet, and detaching him, by his presence alone,
from the group. The superintendent preserved on his face the smile and
character of carelessness; but scarcely was he out of sight than he
threw off the mask.

"Well!" said he, eagerly, "where is Pellisson! What is he doing?"

"Pellisson has returned from Paris."

"Has he brought back the prisoners?"

"He has not even seen the concierge of the prison."

"What! did he not tell him he came from me?"