According to the familiarly friendly fashion of that period, De Saint-Aignan threw his arms round Porthos, and clasped him tenderly in his embrace. Porthos allowed him to do this with the most complete indifference.
“Speak!” resumed De Saint-Aignan; what do you require?”
“Monsieur,” said Porthos, “I have a horse below; be good enough to mount him. He is a very good one, and will play you no tricks.”
“Mount on horseback! What for?” inquired De Saint-Aignan, with no little curiosity.
“To accompany me where M. de Bragelonne is awaiting us.”
“Ah! he wishes to speak to me, I suppose? I can well believe that; he wishes to have the details, very likely. Alas! it is a very delicate matter; but at the present moment I cannot, for the King is waiting for me.”
“The King will wait,” said Porthos.
“But where is M. de Bragelonne expecting me?”
“At the Minimes, at Vincennes.”
“Ah, indeed! but we are going to laugh over the affair when we get there?”
“I don’t think it likely,- not I, at least”; and the face of Porthos assumed a stern hardness of expression. “The Minimes is a rendezvous for duels.”
“Very well; what, then, have I to do at the Minimes?”
Porthos slowly drew his sword, and said, “That is the length of my friend’s sword.”
“Why, the man is mad!” cried De Saint-Aignan.
The color mounted to Porthos’s face, as he replied: “If I had not the honor of being in your own apartment, Monsieur, and of representing M. de Bragelonne’s interests, I would throw you out of the window. It will be merely a pleasure postponed, and you will lose nothing by waiting. Will you come to the Minimes, Monsieur?”
“Eh!”
“Will you go thither of your own free will?”
“But-”
“I will carry you if you do not come. Take care!”
“Basque!” cried M. de Saint-Aignan. As soon as Basque appeared, he said, “The King wishes to see Monsieur the Count.”
“That is very different,” said Porthos; “the King’s service before everything else. We will wait there until this evening, Monsieur.” And saluting De Saint-Aignan with his usual courtesy, Porthos left the room, delighted at having arranged another affair.
De Saint-Aignan looked after him as he left; and then hastily putting on his coat again, he ran off, arranging his dress as he went along, muttering to himself: “The Minimes! the Minimes! We will see how the King will like this challenge; for it is for him, after all, pardieu!”
Chapter XVII: Rival Politics
ON HIS return from the ride which had been so prolific in poetical effusions, and in which everyone had paid tribute to the Muses, as the poets of the period used to say, the King found M. Fouquet waiting for an audience. Behind the King came M. Colbert, who had met the King in the corridor, as if on the watch for him, and followed him like a jealous and watchful shadow,- M. Colbert, with his square head, and his vulgar and untidy though rich costume, which gave him some resemblance to a Flemish gentleman after drinking beer. Fouquet, at the sight of his enemy, remained unmoved, and during the whole of the scene which followed observed that line of conduct so difficult to a man of refinement whose heart is filled with contempt, but who wishes to suppress every indication of it, lest he may do his adversary too much honor. Colbert did not conceal his insolent joy. In his opinion, M. Fouquet’s was a game very badly played and hopelessly lost, although not yet finished. Colbert belonged to that school of politicians who think cleverness alone worthy of their admiration, and success the only thing worth caring for. Colbert, moreover, who was not simply an envious and jealous man, but who had the King’s interest really at heart, because he was thoroughly imbued with the highest sense of probity in all matters of figures and accounts, could well afford to assign as a pretext for his conduct, that in hating and doing his utmost to ruin M. Fouquet he had nothing in view but the welfare of the State and the dignity of the crown.
None of these details escaped Fouquet’s observation. Through his enemy’s thick, bushy brows, and despite the restless movement of his eyelids, he could, by merely looking at his eyes, penetrate to the very bottom of Colbert’s heart; he saw, then, all there was in that heart,- hatred and triumph. But as he wished, while observing everything, to remain himself impenetrable, he composed his features, smiled with that charmingly sympathetic smile which was peculiarly his own, and saluted the King with the most dignified and graceful ease and elasticity of manner. “Sire,” he said, “I perceive by your Majesty’s joyous air that you have had a pleasant ride.”