“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 Pelisson; did you not, Pelisson?”
Pelisson, again absorbed in his work, took good care not to answer.
“But if Pelisson said you were so,” cried Moliere, “Pelisson has seriously offended you.”
“Do you think so?”
“Ah! I advise you, as you are a gentleman, not to leave an insult like that unpunished.”