Five thousand sixty livres.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: One thousand eight hundred thirty-two livres to
your plume-maker.
DORANTE: Exactly.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Two thousand seven hundred eighty livres to your
tailor.
DORANTE: It's true.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Four thousand three hundred seventy-nine livres
twelve sols eight deniers to your tradesman.
DORANTE: Quite right. Twelve sols eight deniers. The account is
exact.
MONSIEUR JouRDAIN: And one thousand seven hundred forty-eight
livres seven sols four deniers to your saddler.
DORANTE: All that is true. What does that come to?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Sum total, fifteen thousand eight hundred
livres.
DORANTE: The sum total is exact: fifteen thousand eight hundred
livres. To which add two hundred pistoles that you are going to
give me, which will make exactly eighteen thousand francs, which I
shall pay you at the first opportunity.
MADAME JOURDAIN: (Aside) Well, didn't I predict it?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Peace!
DORANTE: Will that inconvenience you, to give me the amount I say?
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Oh, no!
MADAME JOURDAIN: (Aside) That man is making a milk-cow out of you!
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Be quiet!
DORANTE: If that inconveniences you, I will seek it somewhere
else.
MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: NO, Sir.
MADAME JOURDAIN: (Aside) He won't be content until he's ruined
you.
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