“No, no, make yourself easy on that score.”
“Pardon me. Why, it is fifteen leagues from this place to Etampes?”
“Fourteen.”
“Well! fourteen be it; fourteen leagues makes seven posts; at twenty sous the post, seven livres; seven livres the courier, fourteen; as many for coming back, twenty-eight! as much for bed and supper, that makes sixty livres this complaisance would cost.”
Manicamp stretched himself like a serpent in his bed, and fixing his two great eyes upon Malicorne, “You are right,” said he; “I could not return before to-morrow;” and he took the twenty pistoles.
“Now, then, be off!”
“Well, as I cannot be back before to-morrow, we have time.”
“Time for what?”
“Time to play.”
“What do you wish to play with?