But Uncle Raoul is more deeply concerned for the form than for the substance; the appearance of power pleases him even as power itself. He will have everything done with due ceremony.
"How do you do, my—my—lieutenant?" says the censitaire, accustomed to call him uncle behind his back.
"Very well. And thyself? What wilt thou?" replies Uncle Raoul, with an air of great importance.
"I have come to pay the rent, my—my lieutenant; but the times are so hard that I have no money," says Jean Baptiste, ducking his head penitently.
"Nescio vos!" exclaims Uncle Raoul in a sonorous voice; "reddite quæ sunt Cæsaris Cæsari."
"That's fine what you say, my—my captain, so fine that I can't understand it at all," murmurs the censitaire.
"It's Latin, blockhead!" exclaims Uncle Raoul, "and this Latin means, pay your lawful rents to the Seigneur D'Haberville, on pain of being taken before the King's courts and of being condemned in first and second instance to pay all expense, damages, claims, and costs."
"It would go hard with me," murmurs the censitaire.
"Heavens, you may well say so!" exclaims Uncle Raoul, raising his eyes to the ceiling.