“I cannot help repeating, monseigneur, that it is impossible; a man never throws away the buckler, behind which he maintains his honor, his fortune, his very life.”
“There are certain men mad enough, Vanel, to fancy themselves out of the reach of all mischances.”
“Yes, monseigneur; but such men never commit their mad acts for the advantage of the poor Vanels of the world.”
“Why not?”
“For the very reason that those Vanels are poor.”
“It is true that M. Fouquet’s post might cost a good round sum. What would you bid for it, Monsieur Vanel?”
“Everything I am worth.”
“Which means?”
“Three or four hundred thousand francs.”
“And the post is worth—”