so flattering and pressing that I could not refuse it
with a good grace. I therefore accepted, and I then left to go and write.

I had not been back for a quarter of an hour when a syndic of the town,
an amiable man, whom I had seen at M. de Voltaire's, and whose name I
shall not mention, came and asked me to give him supper. "I was present,"
said he, "at your argument with the great man, and though I did not open
my mouth I should much like to have an hour's talk with you." By way of
reply, I embraced him, begging him to excuse my dressing-gown, and
telling him that I should be glad if he would spend the whole night with
me.

The worthy man spent two hours with me, without saying a word on the
subject of literature, but to please me he had no need to talk of books,
for he was a disciple of Epicurus and Socrates, and the evening was spent
in telling little stories, in bursts of laughter, and in accounts of the
various kinds of pleasure obtainable at Geneva. Before leaving me he
asked me to come and sup with him on the following evening, promising
that boredom should not be of the party.

"I shall wait for you," said I.

"Very good, but don't tell anyone of the party."

I promised to follow his instructions.

Next morning, young Fox came to see me with the two Englishmen I had seen
at M. de Voltaire's. They proposed a game of quinze, which I accepted,
and after losing fifty louis I left off, and we walked about the town
till dinner-time.

We found the Duc de Villars at Delices; he had come there to consult Dr.
Tronchin, who had kept him alive for the last ten years.

I was silent during the repast, but at dessert, M. de Voltaire, knowing
that I had reasons for not liking the Venetian Government, introduced the
subject; but I disappointed him, as I maintained that in no country could
a man enjoy more perfect liberty than in Venice.

"Yes," said he, "provided he resigns himself to play the part of a dumb
man."

And seeing that I did not care for the subject, he took me by the arm to
his garden, of which, he said, he was the creator. The principal walk led
to a pretty running stream.

"'Tis the Rhone," said he, "which I send into France."

"It does not cost you much in carriage, at all events," said I.

He smiled pleasantly and shewed me the principal street of Geneva, and
Mont Blanc which is the highest point of the Alps.

Bringing back the conversation to Italian literature, he began to talk
nonsense wit