but the brain,” said Fouquet.
“Stay a moment, monsieur le surintendant,” added La Fontaine; “you are not procureur-general — you are a poet.”
“True, true!” cried Loret, Conrart, and every person present connected with literature.
“You are, I repeat, a poet and a painter, a sculptor, a friend of the arts and sciences; but, acknowledge that you are no lawyer.”
“Oh! I do acknowledge it,” replied M. Fouquet, smiling.
“If you were to be nominated at the Academy, you would refuse, I think.”
“I think I should, with all due deference to the academicians.”