He to believe in God?
What sort of a God was it who was gracious only to the young, and left the old in the lurch?
A God who, when the fancy took him, became a devil; who transformed wealth into poverty, fortune into misfortune, happiness into despair.

"You play with us--and we are to worship you?
To doubt your existence is the only resource left open to us if we are not to blaspheme you! You do not exist; for if you did exist, I should curse you!" Shaking his clenched fists heavenward, he rose to his feet.
Involuntarily, a detested name rose to his lips.

Voltaire! Yes, now he was in the right mood to finish his polemic against the sage of Ferney.
To finish it?
No, now was the time to begin it.

A new one! A different one! One in which the ridiculous old fool should be shown up as he deserved: for his pusillanimity, his half-heartedness, his subservience.
He an unbeliever?
A man of whom the latest news was that he was on excellent terms with the priests, that he visited church, and on feast days actually went to confession! He a heretic?
He was a chatterbox, a boastful coward, nothing more! But the day of reckoning was at hand, and soon there would be nothing left of the great philosopher but a quill-driving buffoon.
What airs he had given himself, this worthy M.Voltaire! "My dear M.
Casanova, I am really vexed with you.

What concern have I with the works of Merlin?
It is your fault that I have wasted four hours over such nonsense." All a matter of taste, excellent M.Voltaire! People will continue to read Merlin long after _La Pucelle_ has been forgotten.