The name of Crebillon struck my ear.
"What, sir!" I said to him, "am I fortunate enough to see you?
For eight years you have charmed me, for eight years I have longed to know you.
Listen, I beg 'of you." I then recited the finest passage of his 'Zenobie et Rhadamiste', which I had translated into blank verse.

Silvia was delighted to see the pleasure enjoyed by Crebillon in hearing, at the age of eighty, his own lines in a language which he knew thoroughly and loved as much as his own.

He himself recited the same passage in French, and politely pointed out the parts in which he thought that I had improved on the original.

I thanked him, but I was not deceived by his compliment.
We sat down to supper, and, being asked what I had already seen in Paris, I related everything I had done, omitting only my conversation with Patu.
After I had spoken for a long time, Crebillon, who had evidently observed better than anyone else the road I had chosen in order to learn the good as well as the bad qualities by his countrymen, said to me, "For the first day, sir, I think that what you have done gives great hopes of you, and without any doubt you will make rapid progress.

You tell your story well, and you speak French in such a way as to be perfectly understood; yet all you say is only Italian dressed in French.
That is a novelty which causes you to be listened to with interest, and which captivates the attention of your audience; I must even add that your Franco-Italian language is just the thing to enlist in your favour the sympathy of those who listen to you, because it is singular, new, and because you are in a country where everybody worships those two divinities--novelty and singularity.