"Who knows?"
"Dubois, I do not know in what your hands were steeped the day you were born, but I know that you sully everything you touch."
"Except conspirators, monseigneur, for it seems to me that there, on the contrary, I purify. Look at those of Cellamare, how all that affair was cleared out; Dubois here, Dubois there, I hope the apothecary has properly purged France from Spain. Well, it shall be the same with Olivares as with Cellamare. There is now only Bretagne congested; a good dose, and all will be right."
"Dubois, you would joke with the Gospel."
"Pardieu! I began by that."
The regent rose.
"Come, monseigneur, I was wrong; I forgot you were fasting; let us hear the end of this story."
"The end is that I promised to ask this favor from the regent, and that the regent will grant it."
"The regent will commit a folly."
"No, he will only repair a fault."