“And yet, all the jewels which Madame is wearing this evening are nothing but false stones.”
She blushed.
“Oh! oh!” exclaimed all the guests; “that can very well be said of one who has the finest diamonds in Paris.”
“Well?” said Fouquet to Pellisson, in a low tone.
“Well, at last I have understood you,” returned the latter; “and you have done well.”
“That is pleasant,” said the superintendent, with a smile.
“Supper is ready, Monseigneur,” said Vatel, with majestic air and tone.
The crowd of guests hurried more rapidly than is customary at ministerial entertainments towards the banqueting-room, where a magnificent spectacle presented itself. Upon the buffets, upon the side-tables, upon the supper-table itself, in the midst of flowers and light, glittered most dazzlingly the richest and most costly gold and silver plate that was ever seen,- relics of those ancient magnificent productions which the Florentine artists, whom the Medici family had patronized, had sculptured, chased, and cast for the purpose of holding flowers, at a time when gold yet existed in France. These hidden marvels, which had been buried during the civil wars, had timidly reappeared during the intervals of that war of good taste called the Fronde,- when noblemen, fighting against noblemen, killed but did not pillage one another. All that plate had Madame de Belliere’s arms engraved upon it. “Look!” cried La Fontaine, “here is a P and a B.”
But the most remarkable object present was the cover which Fouquet had assigned to the marchioness. Near her was a pyramid of diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, antique cameos; sardonyx stones, carved by the old Greeks of Asia Minor, with mountings of Mysian gold; curious mosaics of ancient Alexandria, mounted in silver; and massive Egyptian bracelets lay heaped up in a large plate of Palissy ware, supported by a tripod of gilt bronze which had been sculptured by Benvenuto. The marchioness turned pale as she recognized what she had never expected to see again. A profound silence seemed to seize upon every one of the restless and excited guests. Fouquet did not even make a sign in dismissal of the richly liveried servants who crowded like bees round the huge buffets and other tables in the room. “Gentlemen,” he said, “all this plate which you behold once belonged to Madame de Belliere, who having observed one of her friends in great distress, sent all this gold and silver, together with the heap of jewels now before her, to her goldsmith. This noble conduct of a devoted friend can well be understood by such friends as you. Happy, indeed, is that man who sees himself loved in such a manner! Let us drink to the health of Madame de Belliere.”
A tremendous burst of applause followed his words, and made poor Madame de Belliere sink back dumb and breathless on her seat. “And then,” added Pellisson, whom all nobleness aroused and all beauty charmed, “let us also drink to the health of him who inspired Madame’s noble conduct; for such a man is worthy of being worthily loved.”
It was now the marchioness’s turn. She rose, pale and smiling; and as she held out her glass with a faltering hand, and her trembling fingers touched those of Fouquet, her look, full of love, found its reflection and response in that of her ardent and generous-hearted lover.
Begun in this manner, the supper soon became a fete. No one sought for wit, because no one was without it. La Fontaine forgot his Gorgny wine, and allowed Vatel to reconcile him to the wines of the Rhone and those from the shores of Spain. The Abbe Fouquet became so good-natured that Gourville said to him, “Take care, Monsieur the Abbe! If you are so tender, you will be eaten.”
The hours passed away so joyously that, contrary to his usual custom, the superintendent did not leave the table before the end of the dessert. He smiled upon his friends, delighted as a man is whose heart becomes intoxicated before his head; and for the first time he looked at the clock. Suddenly a carriage rolled into the courtyard; and, strange to say, it was heard high above the noise of the mirth which prevailed. Fouquet listened attentively, and then turned his eyes towards the antechamber. It seemed as if he could hear a step passing across it, and as if this step, instead of touching the ground, pressed upon his heart. Involuntarily his foot parted company with the foot which Madame de Belliere had rested on his for two hours.