Paul: To give a man something at a lower price—is that what you call beating him?
John: It is the usual phrase; and you will always find yourself beaten.
Paul: Yes; as Don Quixote was beaten. The blows will fall upon Sancho. John, my friend, you forget the octroi.
John: The octroi! What has that to do with your butter?
Paul: To-morrow, I shall demand protection, and induce the commune to prohibit butter being brought into Paris from Normandy and Brittany. The people must then either dispense with it, or purchase mine, and at my own price, too.
John: Upon my honour, gentlemen, your philanthropy has quite made a convert of me.
"On apprend à hurler, dit l'autre, avec les loups."
My mind is made up. I shall not be thought unworthy of my colleagues. Peter, this sparkling fire has inflamed your soul. Paul, this butter has lubricated the springs of your intelligence. I, too, feel stimulated by this piece of powdered pork; and tomorrow I shall vote, and cause to be voted, the exclusion of swine, dead and alive. That done, I shall construct superb sheds in the heart of Paris,
"Pour l'animal immonde aux Hebreux defendu."
I shall become a pig-driver and pork-butcher. Let us see how the good people of Paris can avoid coming to provide themselves at my shop.