And the Rochellais have added a piquant postscript that for every soul I have despatched.

.

." "You speak of soul, Monsieur ?" interrupted Chaumonot.
"A slip of the tongue.

What I meant to say was, that for every life I've sent out of the world, I've brought another into it," with a laugh truly Rabelaisian.
Brother Jacques's hands were attacked by a momentary spasm.

Only the Indian witnessed this sign of agitation; but the conversation was far above his learning and linguistic resources, and he comprehended nothing.
"Well, Monsieur Chaumonot," said the marquis, who was growing weary of this theological discussion, "Here are your livres in the sum of one thousand.