“Diable! think what a solemn engagement you are making; one has offered a wealthy shopkeeper, the other a count; you are going, then, to offer a prince, are you?”
“I offer you a beggar, my lord.”
“Ah! ah!” said Gondy, reflecting, “you are right, sir; some one who could raise the legion of paupers who choke up the crossings of Paris; some one who would know how to cry aloud to them, that all France might hear it, that it is Mazarin who has reduced them to poverty.”
“Exactly your man.”
“Bravo! and the man?”
“A plain and simple beggar, as I have said, my lord, who asks for alms, as he gives holy water; a practice he has carried on for six years on the steps of St. Eustache.”
“And you say that he has a great influence over his compeers?”
“Are you aware, my lord, that mendacity is an organized body, a kind of association of those who have nothing against those who have everything; an association in which every one takes his share; one that elects a leader?”
“Yes, I have heard it said,” replied the coadjutor.
“Well, the man whom I offer you is a general syndic.”