You want to remain our masters, and we shall always be enemies, just as we were thirty years ago.

You have everything, we have nothing; you can't expect we should ever be friends." "That's what I call a declaration of war," said the general.
"Monseigneur," retorted Fourchon, "when Les Aigues belonged to that poor Madame (God keep her soul and forgive her the sins of her youth!) we were happy.

_She_ let us get our food from the fields and our fuel from the forest; and was she any the poorer for it?
And you, who are at least as rich as she, you hunt us like wild beasts, neither more nor less, and drag the poor before the courts.

Well, evil will come of it! you'll be the cause of some great calamity.

Haven't I just seen your keeper, that shuffling Vatel, half kill a poor old woman for a stick of wood?
It is such fellows as that who make you an enemy to the poor; and the talk is very bitter against you.