The monotony of his rural life was broken only by a visit to Paris, or some village adventure. The following affair is truly curious, as illustrating the character of the man:--Some self-called friends, either in jest or malice, intimated to him that the frequent visits of an old military officer, named Poignan, at his house, compromised the reputation of madame La Fontaine, and that her husband was bound in honour to challenge him. La Fontaine, the most negligent of husbands, and the most easy and credulous of mankind, listened implicitly to their counsel, made an extraordinary effort to rise at five in the morning, girded on his sword, sallied forth, and found Poignan in bed. "My dear friend," said the old captain, "what brings you out so early? Has any misfortune happened? Is your house on fire?" "Rise, and follow me," said the poet. The captain repeated and reiterated his entreaties for some explanation, but in vain. He was obliged to leave his bed, arm himself, and follow La Fontaine, without the remotest idea of his purpose. After they had gone some short distance. La Fontaine stopped, drew his sword, and desired his companion to draw and defend himself. The latter, having no alternative, drew in his own defence; and, with his superior address as a military man, disarmed the poet at the first pass. He now obtained an explanation. "They have told me," said La Fontaine, "that I ought to fight you, because you go to my house to see my wife." "My dear friend," replied the captain, who was past the age of gallantry, and, having neither family nor occupations, sought, in his visits, only an escape from ennui, "you have been abused, and I slandered: but, to set your mind quite at ease, I will never again cross your threshold, grievous as the privation is to me." "No, my friend," rejoined the poet, "I have satisfied them by fighting you, as they advised me, and henceforth you shall come to my house more frequently than ever." This anecdote is scarce reconcilable with the maxims of one who reduced the question of conjugal fidelity to the following dilemma:--"Quand on ne le scait pas, ce n'est rien--quand on le scait c'est peu de choses." But it has passed without question in every biographical notice of him. La Fontaine, according to some accounts, was an unfaithful as well as negligent husband. But his rural gallantries, besides the uncertain evidence of them, are too frivolous to be noticed here. Opinions and representations are divided as respects madame La Fontaine. According to some, her talents and beauty were marred by an imperious temper, and she was the very original of "Madame Honesta," in the tale of Belphegor, who was "D'une orgueil extreme; A et d'autant plus, que de quelque vertu Un tel orgueil paraissait revetu."