“Gourville!”
“Yes,” continued he, “and incredulity! thou ruinest, as contagion destroys the most robust health; that is to say, in an instant.”
“Let us go,” cried Fouquet; “desire the door to be opened, Gourville.”
“Be cautious,” said the latter, “the Abbe Fouquet is there.”
“Ah! my brother,” replied Fouquet, in a tone of annoyance; “he is there, is he? he knows all the ill news, then, and is rejoiced to bring it to me, as usual. The devil! if my brother is there, my affairs are bad, Gourville; why did you not tell me that sooner: I should have been the more readily convinced.”
“Monseigneur calumniates him,” said Gourville, laughing; “if he is come, it is not with a bad intention.”
“What, do you excuse him?” cried Fouquet; “a fellow without a heart, without ideas; a devourer of wealth.”
“He knows you are rich.”
“And would ruin me.”
“No, but he would have your purse. That is all.”