"One day, I had to give a lecture at the Chevalley Seminar, a group theory seminar in Paris. [...] When I got to the room, fifteen or so researchers were there, along with a few students seated in the rear. A couple of minutes before the talk was to start, Serre came in and sat in the second row. I was honored to have him in the audience, but I let him know right off that the presentation might not be very interesting to him. It was intended for a general audience and I was going to be explaining very basic things. [...] At the end of the seminar, Serre came up to me and said—and here I quote verbatim: “You’ll have to explain that to me again, because I didn’t understand anything.” [...] the most troubling aspect was the abruptness, the frankness with which Serre had overplayed his own incomprehension. It takes a lot of nerve to listen closely to a presentation, then go up to the speaker, smile, and tell him that you “didn’t understand anything.” I never would have dared. Why did he do it? I first told myself it must be one of the things you have the right to do when you’re Jean-Pierre Serre. Then I realized that could also work the other way: what if this technique had actually helped him become Jean-Pierre Serre?"