as in the drawing-room.' One of the guests narrates, bursting with
laughter, what a hairdresser said to him while powdering his hair: 'You
see, sir, although I am a miserable scrub, I have no more religion
than any one else.' They conclude that the Revolution will soon be
consummated, that superstition and fanaticism must wholly give way to
philosophy, and they thus calculate the probabilities of the epoch and
those of the future society which will see the reign of reason. The most
aged lament not being able to flatter themselves that they will see it;
the young rejoice in a reasonable prospect of seeing it, and especially
do they congratulate the Academy on having paved the way for the great
work, and on having been the headquarters, the center, the inspirer of
freedom of thought."

"One of the guests had taken no part in this gay conversation a person
named Cazotte, an amiable and original man, but, unfortunately,
infatuated with the delusions of the visionary. In the most serious
tone he begins: 'Gentlemen,' says he, 'be content; you will witness this
great revolution that you so much desire. You know that I am something
of a prophet, and I repeat it, you will witness it. . . . Do you know
the result of this revolution, for all of you, so long as you remain
here?'--'Ah!' exclaims Condorcet with his shrewd, simple air and smile,
'let us see, a philosopher is not sorry to encounter a prophet.'--'You,
Monsieur de Condorcet, will expire stretched on the floor of a dungeon;
you will die of the poison you take to escape the executioner, of the
poison which the felicity of that era will compel you always to carry
about your person!'--At first, great astonishment, and then came an
outburst of laughter. 'What has all this in common with philosophy and
the reign of reason?'--'Precisely what I have just remarked to you;
in the name of philosophy, of humanity, of freedom, under the reign
of reason, you will thus reach your end; and, evidently, the reign of
reason will arrive, for there will be temples of reason, and, in those
days, in all France, the temples will be those alone of reason. . . .
You, Monsieur de Champfort, you will sever your veins with twenty-two
strokes of a razor and yet you will not die for months afterwards. You,
Monsieur Vicq-d'Azir, you will not open your own veins but you will have
them opened six times in one day, in the agonies of gout, so as to be
more certain of success, and you will die that night. Yo