“You will please to remark,” said the abbe, humbly, “that I have asked nothing for myself.”
“That is delicate, monsieur,” replied Fouquet; “so, as you see, I wait.”
“And I ask nothing, oh! no,—it is not for want of need, though, I assure you.”
The minister reflected a minute. “Twelve hundred pistoles to the tailor; that seems a great deal for clothes,” said he.
“I maintain a hundred men,” said the abbe, proudly; “that is a charge, I believe.”
“Why a hundred men?” said Fouquet. “Are you a Richelieu or a Mazarin, to require a hundred men as a guard? What use do you make of these men?—speak.”
“And do you ask me that?” cried the Abbe Fouquet; “ah! how can you put such a question,—why I maintain a hundred men? Ah!”
“Why, yes, I do put that question to you. What have you to do with a hundred men?—answer.”
“Ingrate!” continued the abbe, more and more affected.
“Explain yourself.”