he first edition of this little book for eight hundred
livres," exclaimed La Fontaine, rubbing his hands together. "Serious and
religions books sell at about half that rate."

"It would have been better," said Gourville, "to have written two
religious books instead."

"It would have been too long, and not amusing enough," replied La
Fontaine tranquilly; "my eight hundred livres are in this little bag,
and I beg to offer them as _my_ contribution."

As he said this, he placed his offering in the hands of their treasurer;
it was then Loret's turn, who gave a hundred and fifty livres; the
others stripped themselves in the same way; and the total sum in the
purse amounted to forty thousand livres. The money was still being
counted over when the superintendent noiselessly entered the room;
he had heard everything; and then this man, who had possessed so many
millions, who had exhausted all the pleasures and honors the world had
to bestow, this generous heart, this inexhaustible brain, which had,
like two burning crucibles, devoured the material and moral substance of
the first kingdom in Europe, was seen to cross the threshold with tears
in his eyes, and pass his fingers through the gold and silver which the
bag contained.

"Poor offering," he said, in a softened and affected tone of voice, "you
will disappear into the smallest corner of my empty purse, but you have
filled to overflowing that which no one can ever exhaust, my heart.
Thank you, my friends--thank you." And as he could not embrace every
one present, who were all tearful, too, philosophers as they were, he
embraced La Fontaine, saying to him, "Poor fellow! so you have, on my
account, been beaten by your wife and censured by your confessor."

"Oh! it is a mere nothing," replied the poet; "if your creditors will
only wait a couple of years, I shall have written a hundred other tales,
which, at two editions each, will pay off the debt."

Chapter XLVI. La Fontaine in the Character of a Negotiator.

Fouquet pressed La Fontaine's hand most warmly, saying to him, "My dear
poet, write a hundred other tales, not only for the eighty pistoles
which each of them will produce you, but, still more, to enrich our
language with a hundred new masterpieces of composition."

"Oh!" said La Fontaine, with a little air of pride, "you must not
suppose that I have only brought this idea and the eighty pistoles to
the superintendent."

"Oh! indeed," was the general acclima