It's hard to imagine making the trip from Meaux to Paris every day, and back again. But Bossuet is too pleased with that turn of phrase, a place where one would rather not hang dead over a fence, to question it. "You understand quite well. My father kept the post office, which I think completes the picture."

A wistful look comes over his face. "Really? I have nothing to buy a meal with, but..." He coughs delicately. "And good company of course cannot be bought. Or so people like to say."