“The deuce!”
“Poor woman!” said Fouquet.
“Wait a moment. Conrart is always telling me that I do not know how to conduct matters of business; you will see how I managed this one.”
“Well, go on.”
“‘I suppose you know,’ said I to Vanel, ‘that the value of a post such as that which M. Fouquet holds is by no means trifling.’
“‘How much do you imagine it to be?’ he said.
“‘M. Fouquet, I know, has refused seventeen hundred thousand francs.’
“‘My wife,’ replied Vanel, ‘had estimated it at about fourteen hundred thousand.’