"I am starving. I hoped that you would give me a few crowns not to print it."
Instead of flying into a passion, Diderot simply remarked: "You would not be the first author that ever was bought off; but you can do better with this stuff. The brother of the Duke of Orleans is in retreat at Saint Genevieve. He is religious; he hates me. Dedicate your satire to him; have it bound with his arms on the cover; carry it to him yourself some fine morning, and he will help you."
"But I don't know the prince; and I don't see how I can write the dedicatory epistle."
"Sit down; I'll do it for you."
And Diderot writes the dedication, and gives it to the young man, who carries the libel to the prince, receives a present of twenty-five louis, and comes back after a few days to thank Diderot, who advises him to find a more decent means of living.
The people whom the great writer helped were not always so polite. One day he was seeing to the door a young man who had deceived him, and to whom, after discovering it, he had given both assistance and advice.
"Monsieur Diderot," said the swindler, "do you know natural history?"
"A little; I can distinguish an aloe from a head of lettuce, and a pigeon from a humming-bird."
"Do you know the formica leo?"
"No."