"Sir," said I, "I have only come to Geneva to have the honour of seeing
you, and now that I have obtained that favour I have nothing more to do."

"Have you come to speak to me, or for me to speak to you?"

"In a measure, of course, to speak to you, but much more for you to speak
to me."

"Then stay here three days at least; come to dinner every day, and we
will have some conversation."

The invitation was 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.