AUTHOR. I will not say that our native city [Footnote: Belley,
capital of Bugey, where high mountains, hills, vines, limpid
streams, cascades, dells, gardens of a hundred square leagues are
found, and where, BEFORE the revolution, the people were able to
control the other two orders.] is proud of having given you birth.
At the age of twenty-four you published an elementary book, which
from that day has become a classic. A deserved reputation has
attracted confidence to you. Your skill revives invalids; your
dexterity animates them; your sensibility consoles them. All know
this; but I will reveal to all Paris, to all France, the sole
fault of which I know you guilty.

FRIEND. (Seriously.) What do you mean?

AUTHOR. An habitual fault which no persuasion can correct.

FRIEND. Tell me what you mean! Why torment me?

AUTHOR. You eat too quickly.

(Here, the friend takes up his hat and leaves, fancying that he
has made a convert.)



BIOGRAPHY

The Doctor I have introduced into the dialogue we have just read,
is not a creature of imagination like the Chloris of other days,
but a real living Doctor. Those who know me, will remember