Macaire. The affections, my lord, are priceless. Money will not buy them; or, at least, it takes a great deal.
Marquis. Sir, your sentiments do you honour.
Macaire. My lord, you are rich.
Marquis. Well, sir?
Macaire. Now follow me, I beseech you. Here am I, my lord; and there, if I may so express myself, are you. Each has a father’s heart, and there we are equal; each claims yon interesting lad, and there again we are on a par. But, my lord—and here we come to the inequality, and what I consider the unfairness of the thing—you have thirty thousand francs, and I, my lord, have not a rap. You mark me! not a rap, my lord! My lord, put yourself in my position; consider what must be my feelings, my desires; and—hey?
Marquis. I fail to grasp....
Macaire (with irritation). My dear man, there is the door of the house; here am I; there (touching Marquis on the breast) are thirty thousand francs. Well, now?
Marquis. I give you my word of honour, sir, I gather nothing; my mind is quite unused to such prolonged exertion. If the boy be yours, he is not mine; if he be mine, he is not yours; and if he is neither of ours, or both of ours ... in short, my mind....
Macaire. My lord, will you lay those thirty thousand francs upon the table?
Marquis. I fail to grasp ... but if it will in any way oblige you.... (Does so.)