Pelisson, his head leaning on his hand, was engaged in drawing out the plan of the prologue to the "Facheux," a comedy in three acts, which was to be put on the stage by Poquelin de Moliere, as D'Artagnan called him, or Coquelin de Voliere, as Porthos styled him.
Loret, with all the charming innocence of a gazetteer,--the gazetteers of all ages have always been so artless!--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.

He so often disturbed Pelisson, that the latter, raising his head, crossly said, "At least, La Fontaine, supply me with a rhyme, since you have the run of the gardens at Parnassus." "What rhyme do you want ?" asked the _Fabler_ as Madame de Sevigne used to call him.
"I want a rhyme to _lumiere_." "_Orniere_," answered La Fontaine.
"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." "Oh, oh, you think so, do you, Pelisson ?" "Yes, I do, indeed.

Remember that a rhyme is never good so long as one can find a better." "Then I will never write anything again save in prose," said La Fontaine, who had taken up Pelisson's reproach in earnest.

"Ah! I often suspected I was nothing but a rascally poet! Yes, 'tis the very truth." "Do not say so; your remark is too sweeping, and there is much that is good in your 'Fables.'" "And to begin," continued La Fontaine, following up his idea, "I will go and burn a hundred verses I have just made." "Where are your verses ?" "In my head." "Well, if they are in your head you cannot burn them." "True," said La Fontaine; "but if I do not burn them--" "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 ?" "Write them first and burn them afterwards." "How simple! Well, I should never have discovered that.