ardent and generous-hearted lover. Begun in this manner, the supper soon became a fete; no one tried to be witty, but no one failed in being so. La Fontaine forgot his Gorgny wine, and allowed Vatel to reconcile him to the wines of the Rhone, and those from the shores of Spain.

The Abbe Fouquet became so kind and good-natured, that Gourville said to him, “Take care, monsieur l’abbe; if you are so tender, you will be carved and eaten.”

The hours passed away so joyously, that, contrary to his usual custom, the superintendent did not leave the table before the end of the dessert. He smiled upon his friends, delighted as a man is whose heart becomes intoxicated before his head — and, for the first time, looked at the clock. Suddenly a carriage rolled into the