"God be thanked," exclaimed M. Roucher, "it appears M. Cazotte has it to do only with the Academy; he has just started a terrible butchery among them; I—thanks to heaven—"
Cazotte interrupted him: "you?—you, too, will die on the scaffold."
"Ha! this is a bet," they exclaimed from all sides; "he has sworn to extirpate everything!"
Cazotte.—"No, it is not I that has sworn it."
"Then we must be put under the yokes of the Turks and Tartars?—and yet—"
Cazotte.—"Nothing less: I have told you already; you will then be only under the reign of philosophy and reason; those who shall treat you in this manner, will all be philosophers, will always carry on the same kind of conversation which you have peddled out for the last hour, will repeat all your maxims; they will, like you, cite verses from Diderot and the Pucelle."
It was whispered into one another's ear: "You all see that he has lost his reason—(for he remains very serious while he is talking)—Do you not see that he is joking?—and you know that he mixes something mysterious into all his jokes." "Yes," said Chamfort, "but I must confess his mysteries are not agreeable, they are too scaffoldish! And when shall all this occur?"
Cazotte.—"Six years will not expire, before all I told you will be fulfilled."
"There are many wonders." This time it was I (namely Laharpe) who took the word, "and of me you say nothing?"
"With you," replied Cazotte, "a wonder will take place, which will at least be as extraordinary; you will then be a Christian!"