Val. Know, Master Jacques, you and people like you, that a table overloaded with eatables is a real cut-throat; that, to be the true friends of those we invite, frugality should reign throughout the repast we give, and that according to the saying of one of the ancients, "We must eat to live, and not live to eat."
Har. Ah! How well the man speaks! Come near, let me embrace you for this last saying. It is the finest sentence that I have ever heard in my life: "We must live to eat, and not eat to live." No; that isn't it. How do you say it?
Val. That we must eat to live, and not live to eat.
Har. (to Master Jacques). Yes. Do you hear that? (To Valère) Who is the great man who said that?
Val. I do not exactly recollect his name just now.
Har. Remember to write down those words for me. I will have them engraved in letters of gold over the mantel-piece of my dining-room.
Val. I will not fail. As for your supper, you had better let me manage it. I will see that it is all as it should be.
Har. Do so.
Jac. So much the better; all the less work for me.
Har. (to Valère). We must have some of those things of which it is not possible to eat much, and that satisfy directly. Some good fat beans, and a pâté well stuffed with chestnuts.