s hands across his eyes.
Why? Perhaps to wipe away a tear, perhaps to smother a sigh. Alas! we
know that Moliere was a moralist, but he was not a philosopher. "'Tis
all the same," he said, returning to the topic of the conversation,
"Pellisson has insulted you."

"Ah, truly! I had already forgotten it."

"And I am going to challenge him on your behalf."

"Well, you can do so, if you think it indispensable."

"I do think it indispensable, and I am going--"

"Stay," exclaimed La Fontaine, "I want your advice."

"Upon what? this insult?"

"No; tell me really now whether _lumiere_ does not rhyme with
_orniere_."

"I should make them rhyme--ah! I knew you would--and I have made a
hundred thousand such rhymes in my time."

"A hundred thousand!" cried La Fontaine, "four times as many as La
Pucelle, which M. Chaplain is meditating. Is it also on this subject too
that you have composed a hundred thousand verses?"

"Listen to me, you eternally absent creature," said Moliere.

"It is certain," continued La Fontaine, "that _legume_, for instance,
rhymes with _posthume_."

"In the plural, above all."

"Yes, above all in the plural, seeing that then it rhymes not with three
letters, but with four; as _orniere_ does with _lumiere_."

"But _ornieres_ and _lumieres_ in the plural, my dear Pellisson," said
La Fontaine, clapping his hand on the shoulder of his friend, whose
insult he had quite forgotten, "and they will rhyme."

"Hem!" cried Pellisson.

"Moliere says so, and Moliere is a judge of it; he declares he has
himself made a hundred thousand verses."

"Come," said Moliere, laughing, "he is off now."

"It is like _rivage_, which rhymes admirably with _herbage_. I would
take my oath of it."

"But--" said Moliere.

"I tell you all this," continued La Fontaine, "because you are preparing
a _divertissement_ for Vaux, are you not?"

"Yes, the 'Facheux.'"

"Ah, yes, the 'Facheux;' yes, I recollect. Well, I was thinking a
prologue would admirably suit your _divertissement_."

"Doubtless it would suit capitally."

"Ah! you are of my opinion?"

"So much so, that I ask you to write this prologue."

"You ask _me_ to write it?"

"Yes, you, and on your refusal begged you to ask Pellisson, who is
engaged upon it at this moment."

"Ah! that is what Pellisson is doing, then?"

"I'faith, my dear Moliere, you might indeed often be right."

"When?"

"When you call me absent. It is a wretched defect. I will cu