had to submit to
the operation. I placed the ball in such a position that it could not
fall out before I was in; however, it fell out towards the end, just as
we were separating. The victim perceived that I had taken her in.
However, she said nothing, picked up the ball, and challenged the two
sisters to submit to the pleasant experiment, to which they lent
themselves with the greatest interest; while the syndic, who had no faith
in the virtues of the metal, contented himself with looking on. After
half an hour's rest I began again, without balls, assuring them that I
would be careful, and I kept my word, without depriving them of the
pleasure in the slightest degree.

When it was time to part, these girls, who had formerly been scantily
provided for, threw their arms round my neck, overwhelmed me with
caresses, and declared how much they owed me. The syndic told them that I
was going in two days, and suggested that they should make me stay a day
longer in Geneva, and I made this sacrifice joyfully. The worthy syndic
had an engagement on the following day, and I sorely needed a holiday
myself. He took me back to my inn, thanking me almost as heartily as his
charming nymphs.

After having enjoyed a calm and refreshing sleep ten hours, I felt myself
able to enjoy the delightful society of M. de Voltaire. I went to his
house, but I was disappointed in my hopes, as it pleased the great man to
be in a fault-finding and sarcastic mood the whole day. He knew I had to
leave on the morrow.

He began by thanking me at table for my present of Merlin Coccaeus.

"You certainly gave it me with good intentions," said he, "but I owe you
no thanks for praising it so highly, as you made me lose four hours in
reading nonsense."

I felt my hair stand on end, but I mastered my emotions, and told him
quietly enough that one day, perhaps, he would find himself obliged to
praise the poem more highly than I had done. I quoted several instances
of the insufficiency of a first perusal.

"That's true," said he; "but as for your Merlin, I will read him no more.
I have put him beside Chapelain's 'Pucelle'."

"Which pleases all the critics, in spite of its bad versification, for it
is a good poem, and Chapelain was a real poet though he wrote bad verses.
I cannot overlook his genius."

My freedom must have shocked him, and I might have guessed it when he
told me he had put the 'Macaronicon' beside the 'Pucelle'. I knew that
there was a poe