“Pardon that I take the liberty of rectifying your ideas, but it is necessary to come to an understanding; and as you seemed to me in your letter embarrassed to give an exact form to a simple account, I have permitted myself to propose to you an easy method, capable of being understood by the simplest accountant. “Two words, Messieurs, enclose the whole of the present question; if the account which I returned is not just, rectify it. If you believe it to be exact, certify it; this is the way we must proceed in all matters of business.” “The actors,” says Loménie, “did not relish this lesson in accounts given with so much complaisance and politeness. They replied that they would assemble the lawyers forming the council of the _Comédie_ and name four commissioners from their body to examine the case.” “To assemble all the council of lawyers,” says Beaumarchais, “and name commissioners to consult as to whether an exact account should be sent me, duly signed, seemed to me a very strange proceeding.” The comedians were, however, in no hurry to act. The 14th of February, 1777, they wrote to their troublesome friend. “It is still a question of assembling the council. The circumstance of the carnival joined to the services which we are obliged to perform at court and in the city have prevented the frequent reunion of different persons who should occupy themselves in this affair....” “I concluded from this letter,” says Beaumarchais, “that the _Comédie_ was contented with me, but that the carnival seemed a bad time to occupy themselves with business. Letting the comedians, the lawyers, and their council dance in peace, I waited patiently until the end of Lent, but either they were still dancing, or doing penance for having danced, because I heard nothing from them. “Four months rolled by in a profound sleep from which I was awakened June 1st, 1777.” The cause of Beaumarchais’s awakening was the sudden discovery that urgent requests from time to time to the comedians to play the _Barbier_ met with constant refusal. The 2nd of June he wrote a letter from which we extract the following, “If patience is a virtue, you have the right, Messieurs, to think me the most virtuous of men, but if you take the right to forget that you owe me for two or three years a verified account ... it is I who have the right to be offended, because there are limits to the patience of even the most absurd....”