"I have discovered the way," said Moliere, who had entered just at this point of the conversation.
"What way?"
"Write them first and burn them afterward."
"How simple it is! Well, I should never have discovered that. What a mind that devil Moliere has!" said La Fontaine. Then, striking his forehead, "Oh, thou wilt never be aught but an ass, Jean la Fontaine!" he added.
"What are you saying there, my friend?" broke in Moliere, approaching the poet, whose aside he had heard.
"I say I shall never be aught but an ass," answered La Fontaine, with a heavy sigh and swimming eyes. "Yes, my friend," he added, with increasing grief, "it seems that I rhyme in a slovenly manner."
"Oh, 'tis wrong to say so."
"Nay I am a poor creature!"
"Who said so?"
"Parbleu! 'twas Pellisson; did you not, Pellisson?"