"What rhyme do you want?" asked the Fabler, as Madame de Sevigne used to call him.
"I want a rhyme to lumière."
"Ornière," answered La Fontaine.
"Ah, but, my good friend, one cannot talk of wheel-ruts when celebrating the delights of Vaux," said Loret.
"Besides, it doesn't rhyme," answered Pellisson.
"How! doesn't rhyme!" cried La Fontaine, in surprise.
"Yes; you have an abominable habit, my friend—a habit which will ever prevent your becoming a poet of the first order. You rhyme in a slovenly manner."
"Oh, oh, you think so, do you, Pellisson?"
"Yes, I do, indeed. Remember that a rhyme is never good so long as one can find a better."
"Then I will never write anything again but in prose," said La Fontaine, who had taken up Pellisson's reproach in earnest. "Ah! I often suspected I was nothing but a rascally poet! Yes, 'tis the very truth."