“What! Make my escape,- fly?”
“No; I do not mean that. You forget that all such proceedings originate in the parliament; that they are instituted by the procureur-general, and that you are the procureur-general. You see that unless you wish to condemn yourself-”
“Oh!” cried Fouquet suddenly, dashing his fist upon the table.
“Well, what? What is the matter?”
“I am procureur-general no longer.”
Aramis at this reply became as livid as death; he pressed his hands together convulsively, and with a wild, haggard look, which almost annihilated Fouquet, said, laying a stress upon every syllable, “You are procureur-general no longer, do you say?”
“No.”
“Since when?”
“Since four or five hours ago.”
“Take care!” interrupted Aramis, coldly. “I do not think you are in full possession of your senses, my friend; collect yourself!”
“I tell you,” returned Fouquet, “that a little while ago some one came to me, brought by my friends, to offer me fourteen hundred thousand livres for the appointment, and that I have sold it.”
Aramis looked as if he had been thunder-stricken; the intelligent and mocking expression of his countenance was changed to an expression of gloom and terror which had more effect upon the superintendent than all the exclamations and speeches in the world. “You had need of money, then?” he said at last.
“Yes; to discharge a debt of honor”; and in a few words he gave Aramis an account of Madame de la Belliere’s generosity, and of the manner in which he had thought he ought to repay that generosity.
“Yes,” said Aramis; “that is, indeed, a fine trait. What has it cost?”
“Exactly the fourteen hundred thousand livres,- the price of my appointment.”
“Which you received in that manner, without reflection. Oh, imprudent friend!”
“I have not yet received the amount; but I shall to-morrow.”
“It is not yet completed, then?”
“It must be carried out, though; for I have given the goldsmith, for twelve o’clock to-morrow, an order upon my treasury, into which the purchaser’s money will be paid at six or seven o’clock.”
“Heaven be praised!” cried Aramis, clapping his hands together; “nothing is yet completed, since you have not been paid.”
“But the goldsmith?”
“You shall receive the fourteen hundred thousand livres from me at a quarter before twelve.”
“Stay a moment! It is at six o’clock, this very morning, that I am to sign.”
“Oh, I tell you that you will not sign!”
“I have given my word, Chevalier.”
“If you have given it, you will take it back again; that is all.”
“Ah! what are you saying to me?” cried Fouquet, in a most expressive tone. “Fouquet recall his word, after it has been once pledged!”
Aramis replied to the almost stern look of the minister with a look full of anger. “Monsieur,” he said, “I believe I have deserved to be called a man of honor, have I not? As a soldier I have risked my life five hundred times; as a priest I have rendered great services, both to the State and to my friends. The value of a word, once passed, is estimated according to the worth of the man who gives it. So long as it is in his own keeping it is of the purest, finest gold; when his wish to keep it has passed away, it is a two-edged sword. With that word, therefore, he defends himself as with an honorable weapon, considering that when he disregards his word,- that man of honor,- he endangers his life, he courts the risk rather than that his adversary should secure advantages. And then, Monsieur, he appeals to Heaven- and to justice.”
Fouquet bent down his head, as he replied: “I am a poor Breton, opinionated and commonplace; my mind admires and fears yours. I do not say that I keep my word from a moral instinct; I keep it, if you like, by force of habit. But at all events, the ordinary run of men are simple enough to admire this custom of mine. It is my single virtue; leave me the honor of it.”
“And so you are determined to sign the sale of the office which would defend you against all your enemies?”