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The same sentiments were thus versified by Loret, when announcing that the Duchess had obtained permission to return to Court: "Montbazon, la belle douairière, Dont les appas et la lumière Sous de lugubres vêtements Paraissent encore plus charmants...."
"Well, what will happen if you do not burn them?" "They will remain in my mind, and I shall never forget them!" "The deuce!" cried Loret; "what a dangerous thing! One would go mad with it!" "The deuce! the deuce!" repeated La Fontaine; "what can I do?" "I have discovered the way," said Moliere, who had entered just at this point of the conversation. "What way?"
Presently Loret and La Fontaine would enter from the garden, engaged in a dispute about the art of making verses. The painters and musicians, in their turn, were hovering near the dining-room. As soon as eight o'clock struck the supper would be announced, for the superintendent never kept any one waiting.
"What were you fancying?" said Loret, in the middle of a sentence. "Make haste." "You are writing the prologue to the 'Facheux, are you not?" "No! mordieu! it is Pelisson." "Ah, Pelisson," cried La Fontaine, going over to him, "I was fancying," he continued, "that the nymph of Vaux " "Ah, beautiful!" cried Loret.
La Fontaine placed himself at a table, and set his rapid pen an endless dance across the smooth white vellum; Pelisson made a fair copy of his prologue; Moliere contributed fifty fresh verses, with which his visit to Percerin had inspired him; Loret, an article on the marvelous fetes he predicted; and Aramis, laden with his booty like the king of the bees, that great black drone, decked with purple and gold, re-entered his apartment, silent and busy.
Loret was composing an account of the fetes at Vaux, before those fetes had taken place. La Fontaine sauntered about from one to the other, a peripatetic, absent-minded, boring, unbearable dreamer, who kept buzzing and humming at everybody's elbow a thousand poetic abstractions.
"Well, then, whoever said so, 'tis the same to me! And so your divertissement is called the 'Facheux? Well, can you make heureux rhyme with facheux?" "If obliged, yes." "And even with capriceux." "Oh, no, no." "It would be hazardous, and yet why so?" "There is too great a difference in the cadences." "I was fancying," said La Fontaine, leaving Moliere for Loret "I was fancying "
Louis inquired of Monsieur the particulars of the day's bathing; and stated, looking at the ladies present while he spoke, that certain poets were engaged turning into verse the enchanting diversion of the baths of Vulaines, and that one of them particularly, M. Loret, seemed to have been intrusted with the confidence of some water-nymph, as he had in his verses recounted many circumstances that were actually true at which remark more than one lady present felt herself bound to blush.
Well pleased was Ernis at so timely a succor, and he promised to reward Sir Guy by making him heir to the throne and giving him the hand of his only daughter the beautiful Loret. Then Sir Guy led the army forth from the city against the Soudan and his host, and defeated them so badly that for some days they were unable to rally their men for another encounter.
That is the reason I am making this provision." Fouquet had no more to say; he was convinced. Vatel, on his part, had much more to say, without doubt, and it was plain he was getting warm. "It is just as if you would reproach me, monseigneur, for going to the Rue Planche Milbray, to fetch, myself, the cider M. Loret drinks when he comes to dine at your house."
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