d a half for his envelope. If any one were to
bring me a generous-hearted snake like the one in your fable, Pellisson,
I would give him my shell."

"_Rara avis in terris!_" cried Conrart.

"And like a black swan, is he not!" added La Fontaine; "well, then, the
bird in question, black and very rare, is already found."

"Do you mean to say that you have found a purchaser for my post of
procureur-general?" exclaimed Fouquet.

"I have, monsieur."

"But the surintendant never said that he wished to sell," resumed
Pellisson.

"I beg your pardon," said Conrart, "you yourself spoke about it, even--"

"Yes, I am a witness to that," said Gourville.

"He seems very tenacious about his brilliant idea," said Fouquet,
laughing. "Well, La Fontaine, who is the purchaser?"

"A perfect black bird, for he is a counselor belonging to the
parliament, an excellent fellow."

"What is his name?"

"Vanel."

"Vanel!" exclaimed Fouquet, "Vanel, the husband of--"

"Precisely, her husband; yes monsieur."

"Poor fellow!" said Fouquet, with an expression of great interest.

"He wishes to be everything that you have been, monsieur," said
Gourville, "and to do everything that you have done."

"It is very agreeable; tell us all about it, La Fontaine."

"It is very simple. I see him occasionally, and a short time ago I met
him walking about on the Place de la Bastille, at the very moment when I
was about to take the small carriage to come down here to Saint-Mande."

"He must have been watching his wife," interrupted Loret.

"Oh, no!" said La Fontaine, "he is far from being jealous. He accosted
me, embraced me, and took me to the inn called 'L'Image Saint-Fiacre,'
and told me all about his troubles."

"He has his troubles, then?"

"Yes; his wife wants to make him ambitious."

"Well, and he told you--"

"That some one had spoken to him about a post in parliament: that M.
Fouquet's name had been mentioned; that ever since Madame Vanel dreams
of nothing else but being called Madame la Procureuse-Generale, and that
it makes her ill and keeps her awake every night she does not dream of
it."

"The deuce!"

"Poor woman!" said Fouquet.

"Wait a moment. Conrart is always telling me that I do not know how to
conduct matters of business; you will see how I manage this one."

"Well, go on."

"'I suppose you know,' said I to Vanel, 'that the value of a post such
as that which M. Fouquet holds is by no means trifling.'

"'How much