“Alas! Master Claude, all that masonry costeth me dear. In proportion as the house is erected, I am ruined.”

“Ho! have you not your revenues from the jail, and the bailiwick of the Palais, and the rents of all the houses, sheds, stalls, and booths of the enclosure? ‘Tis a fine breast to suck.”

“My castellany of Poissy has brought me in nothing this year.”

“But your tolls of Triel, of Saint-James, of Saint-Germainen-Laye are always good.”

“Six score livres, and not even Parisian livres at that.”

“You have your office of counsellor to the king.

That is fixed.”