Macaire (touching him on the breast). You have there thirty thousand francs.
Marquis. Well, sir?
Macaire. I was but thinking of the inequalities of life, my lord: that I, who, for all you know, may be the father of your son, should have nothing; and that you, who, for all I know, may be the father of mine, should be literally bulging with bank notes.... Where do you keep them at night?
Marquis. Under my pillow. I think it rather ingenious.
Macaire. Admirably so. I applaud the device.
Marquis. Well, sir?
Macaire. Do you snuff, my lord?
Marquis. No, sir, I do not.
Macaire. My lord, I am a poor man.
Marquis. Well, sir? and what of that?