Aramis distributed the notes of invitation, and thanked them in the name of M.Fouquet.

"The superintendent," he said, "being kept to his room by business, could not come and see them, but begged them to send him some of the fruits of their day's work, to enable him to forget the fatigue of his labor in the night." At these words, all settled down to work.

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.

But before departing, "Remember, gentlemen," said he, "we leave to-morrow evening." "In that case, I must give notice at home," said Moliere.
"Yes; poor Moliere!" said Loret, smiling; "he loves his home." "'_He_ loves,' yes," replied Moliere, with his sad, sweet smile.

"'He loves,' that does not mean, they love _him_." "As for me," said La Fontaine, "they love me at Chateau Thierry, I am very sure." Aramis here re-entered after a brief disappearance.
"Will any one go with me ?" he asked.