"New folly, monseigneur! on my honor nothing can be more serious."
"Oh! this letter from the king of England, which asks me for an archbishopric for you—"
"Did your highness not recognize the style?"
"You dictated it, you rascal!"
"To Nericault Destouches, who got the king to sign it."
"And the king signed it as it is, without saying anything?"
"Exactly. 'You wish,' said he to our poet, 'that a Protestant prince should interfere to make an archbishop in France. The regent will read my recommendation, will laugh at it, and pay no attention to it.' 'Yes, yes, sire,' replied Destouches, who has more wit than he puts into his verses, 'the regent will laugh at it, but after all will do what your majesty asks.'"
"Destouches lied."
"Destouches never spoke more truly, monseigneur."
"You an archbishop! King George would deserve that, in return, I should point out to him some rascal like you for the archbishopric of York when it becomes vacant."