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"True, true!" cried Loret, Conrart, and every person present connected with literature. "You are, I repeat, a poet and a painter, a sculptor, a friend of the arts and sciences; but, acknowledge that you are no lawyer." "Oh! I do acknowledge it," replied M. Fouquet, smiling. "If you were to be nominated at the Academy, you would refuse, I think."
Again glancing, therefore, for the hundredth time at the beautiful Athenais, who carried into practice her previous evening's theory of not even deigning to look at her adorer, he said: "Your majesty will perhaps pardon me for having too indifferently remembered the verses which the nymph dictated to Loret; but if the king has not retained any recollection of them, how could I possibly remember?"
Madame coveted complimentary remarks, and, determined to procure them at any cost, she addressed herself to the king, saying: "Sire, your majesty, who is aware of everything which occurs in your kingdom, ought to know beforehand the verses confided to M. Loret by this nymph; will your majesty kindly communicate them to us?"
"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 Pelisson. "What! 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."
Long excursions about the little island became for Esperance the most delightful part of their country life. Very often M. and Madame Darbois, Mlle. Frahender and Genevieve Hardouin would follow in the brake. They carried their lunch with them and ate it sometimes in the little wood of Loret, sometimes on the cliffs amidst the broom, furze and asters with their golden flowers and silver foliage.
"And now," said D'Artagnan, "that shabby-looking man, who accompanies M. Getard, is he also of the household of M. Fouquet?" "Oh! yes," said Porthos, with contempt; "it is one M. Jupenet, or Juponet, a sort of poet." "Who is come to establish himself here?" "I believe so." "I thought M. Fouquet had poets enough, yonder Scudery, Loret, Pellisson, La Fontaine?
I see him occasionally, and a short time ago I met him, walking about on the Place de la Bastile, at the very moment when I was about to take the small carriage to come down here to Saint-Mande." "He must have been watching his wife," interrupted Loret. "Oh, no!" said La Fontaine, "he is far from being jealous.
Soon afterward the Emperor Ernis gathered a great company of princes, dukes, earls, barons, bishops, abbots, and priors to the wedding feast, and in presence of them all he gave Sir Guy to be ruler over half the kingdom, and led forth the Princess Loret to be his bride. But when Sir Guy saw the wedding-ring, his old love came to his mind, and he bethought him of Felice.
"Loret drinks cider at my house!" cried Fouquet, laughing. "Certainly he does, monsieur, and that is the reason why he dines there with pleasure." "Vatel," cried Fouquet, pressing the hand of his maitre d'hotel, "you are a man!
I thank you, Vatel, for having understood that at my house M. de la Fontaine, M. Conrart, and M. Loret are as great as dukes and peers, as great as princes, greater than myself. Vatel, you are a good servant, and I double your salary."
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