concern us, and to misunderstand what other people say."

"Did I not know," said Simontault, "that Nomer-fide would give us no
cause to weep, but rather to laugh? And I think that we have all done so
very heartily."

"How comes it," said Oisille, "that we are more ready to be amused by a
piece of folly than by something wisely done?"

"Because," said Hircan, "the folly is more agreeable to us, for it is
more akin to our own nature, which of itself is never wise. And like is
fond of like, the fool of folly, and the wise man of discretion. But
I am sure," he continued, "that no one, whether foolish or wise, could
help laughing at this story."

"There are some," said Geburon, "whose hearts are so bestowed on the
love of wisdom that, whatever they may hear, they cannot be made to
laugh. They have a gladness of heart and a moderate content such as
nought can move."

"Who are they?" asked Hircan.

"The philosophers of olden days," said Geburon. "They were scarcely
sensible of either sadness or joy, or at least they gave no token of
either, so great a virtue did they deem the conquest of themselves and
their passions. I too think, as they did, that it is well to subdue a
wicked passion, but a victory over a natural passion, and one that tends
to no evil, appears useless in my eyes."

"And yet," added Geburon, "the ancients held it for a great virtue."