re myself of
it, and do your prologue for you."

"But seeing that Pellisson is about it!--"

"Ah, true, double rascal that I am! Loret was indeed right in saying I
was a poor creature."

"It was not Loret who said so, my friend."

"Well, then, whoever said so, 'tis the same to me! And so your
_divertissement_ is called the 'Facheux?' Well, can you not make
_heureux_ rhyme with _facheux_?"

"If obliged, yes."

"And even with _capricieux_."

"Oh, no, no."

"It would be hazardous, and yet why so?"

"There is too great a difference in the cadences."

"I was fancying," said La Fontaine, leaving Moliere for Loret--"I was
fancying--"

"What were you fancying?" said Loret, in the middle of a sentence. "Make
haste."

"You are writing the prologue to the 'Facheux,' are you not?"

"No! mordieu! it is Pellisson."

"Ah, Pellisson!" cried La Fontaine, going over to him. "I was fancying,"
he continued, "that the nymph of Vaux--"

"Ah, beautiful!" cried Loret. "The nymph of Vaux! thank you, La
Fontaine; you have just given me the two concluding verses of my paper."

"Well, if you can rhyme so well, La Fontaine," said Pellisson, "tell me
now in what way you would begin my prologue?"

"I should say, for instance, 'Oh! nymph, who--' After 'who' I should
place a verb in the second person singular of the present indicative;
and should go on thus: 'this grot profound.'"

"But the verb, the verb?" asked Pellisson.

"To admire the greatest king of all kings round," continued La Fontaine.

"But the verb, the verb," obstinately insisted Pellisson. "This second
person singular of the present indicative?"

"Well then; quittest:--

"O, nymph, who quittest now this grot profound,
To admire the greatest king of all kings round."

"You would put 'who quittest,' would you?"

"Why not?"

"'Gentlest' after 'you who?'"

"Ah! my dear fellow," exclaimed La Fontaine, "you are a shocking
pedant!"

"Without counting," said Moliere, "that the second verse, 'king of all
kings round,' is very weak, my dear La Fontaine."

"Then you see clearly I am nothing but a poor creature--a shuffler, as
you said."

"I never said so."

"Then, as Loret said."

"And it was not Loret neither; it was Pellisson."

"Well, Pellisson was right a hundred times over. But what annoys me more
than anything, my dear Moliere, is, that I fear we shall not have our
Epicurean dresses."

"You expected yours, then, for the fete?"

"Yes, for th