You have been talking for an hour about the Regent's death, and the Duchess of Phalaris, and sly old Fleury, and what not; and I care just as much as if you told me that one of my bauers at Galgenstein had killed a pig; or as if my lacquey, La Rose yonder, had made love to my mistress." "He does!" said the reverend gentleman.
"Ah, Monsieur l'Abbe!" said La Rose, who was arranging his master's enormous Court periwig, "you are, helas! wrong.

Monsieur le Comte will not be angry at my saying that I wish the accusation were true." The Count did not take the slightest notice of La Rose's wit, but continued his own complaints.
"I tell you, Abbe, I care for nothing.

I lost a thousand guineas t'other night at basset; I wish to my heart I could have been vexed about it.
Egad! I remember the day when to lose a hundred made me half mad for a month.

Well, next day I had my revenge at dice, and threw thirteen mains.

There was some delay; a call for fresh bones, I think; and would you believe it ?--I fell asleep with the box in my hand!" "A desperate case, indeed," said the Abbe.
"If it had not been for Krahwinkel, I should have been a dead man, that's positive.