agoras, my dear Conrart."

"Remember, likewise, that the ancient philosopher was rather a bad
friend of the gods and the magistrates."

"Oh! that is what I will not admit," replied La Fontaine. "Epicurus was
like M. Fouquet."

"Do not compare him to monsieur le surintendant," said Conrart, in an
agitated voice, "or you would accredit the reports which are circulated
concerning him and us."

"What reports?"

"That we are bad Frenchmen, lukewarm with regard to the king, deaf to
the law."

"I return, then, to my text," said La Fontaine. "Listen, Conrart, this
is the morality of Epicurus, whom, besides, I consider, if I must tell
you so, as a myth. Antiquity is mostly mythical. Jupiter, if we give
a little attention to it, is life. Alcides is strength. The words are
there to bear me out; Zeus, that is, zen, to live. Alcides, that
is, alce, vigor. Well, Epicurus, that is mild watchfulness, that is
protection; now who watches better over the state, or who protects
individuals better than M. Fouquet does?"

"You talk etymology and not morality; I say that we modern Epicureans
are indifferent citizens."

"Oh!" cried La Fontaine, "if we become bad citizens, it is not through
following the maxims of our master. Listen to one of his principal
aphorisms."

"I--will."

"Pray for good leaders."

"Well?"

"Well! what does M. Fouquet say to us every day? 'When shall we be
governed?' Does he say so? Come, Conrart, be frank."

"He says so, that is true."

"Well, that is a doctrine of Epicurus."

"Yes; but that is a little seditious, observe."

"What! seditious to wish to be governed by good heads or leaders?"

"Certainly, when those who govern are bad."

"Patience, I have a reply for all."

"Even for what I have just said to you?"

"Listen! would you submit to those who govern ill? Oh! it is written:
Cacos politeuousi. You grant me the text?"

"Pardieu! I think so. Do you know, you speak Greek as well as AEsop did,
my dear La Fontaine."

"Is there any wickedness in that, my dear Conrart?"

"God forbid I should say so."

"Then let us return to M. Fouquet. What did he repeat to us all the day?
Was it not this? 'What a cuistre is that Mazarin! what an ass! what a
leech! We must, however, submit to the fellow.' Now, Conrart, did he say
so, or did he not?"

"I confess that he said it, and even perhaps too often."

"Like Epicurus, my friend, still like Epicurus; I repeat, we are
Epicureans, and that is very