“There is nothing unpleasant, M. Pelisson; only a little order to receive some money.”
“Ah!” said Fouquet’s friend, breathing more freely; and he took the captain by the hand, and dragging him behind him, led him into the dining-room, where a number of friends surrounded the superintendent, placed in the centre, and buried in the cushions of an arm-chair. There were assembled all the Epicureans who so lately at Vaux did honor to the house, the intelligence, and the wealth of M. Fouquet. joyous friends, for the most part faithful, they had not fled from their protector at the approach of the storm, and in spite of the threatening heavens, in spite of the trembling earth, they remained there, smiling, cheerful, as devoted to him in misfortune as they had been in prosperity. On the left of the superintendent was Madame de Belliere; on his right was Madame Fouquet; as if braving the laws of the world, and putting all vulgar reasons of propriety to silence, the two protecting angels of this man united to offer him at the moment of the crisis the support of their intertwined arms. Madame de Belliere was pale, trembling, and full of respectful attentions for Madame the wife of the superintendent who, with one hand on the hand of her husband, was looking anxiously towards the door by which Pelisson had gone out to bring in d’Artagnan. The captain entered at first full of courtesy, and afterwards of admiration, when, with his infallible glance, he had interpreted the expression of every face.
Fouquet raised himself up in his chair. “Pardon me, M. d’Artagnan,” said he, “if I did not come to receive you when coming in the King’s name.” And he pronounced the last words with a sort of melancholy firmness, which filled the hearts of his friends with terror.
“Monseigneur,” replied d’Artagnan, “I only come to you in the King’s name to demand payment of an order for two hundred pistoles.”
The clouds passed from every brow but that of Fouquet, which still remained overcast. “Ah, then,” said he, “perhaps you also are going to Nantes?”
“I do not know whither I am going, Monseigneur.”
“But,” said Madame Fouquet, recovered from her fright, “you are not going so soon, Monsieur the Captain, but that you can do us the honor to take a seat with us?”
“Madame, I should esteem that a great honor done to me, but I am so pressed for time that, you see, I have been obliged to permit myself to interrupt your repast to procure payment of my order.”
“The reply to which shall be gold,” said Fouquet, making a sign to his intendant, who went out with the order which d’Artagnan handed to him.
“Oh!” said the latter, “I was not uneasy about the payment; the house is good.”
A painful smile passed over the pale features of Fouquet.
“Are you in pain?” asked Madame de Belliere.
“Do you feel your attack coming on?” asked Madame Fouquet.
“Neither, thank you,” said the superintendent.
“Your attack?” said d’Artagnan, in his turn; “are you unwell, Monseigneur?”
“I have a tertian fever, which seized me after the fete at Vaux.”
“Caught cold in the grottos at night, perhaps?”
“No, no; nothing but agitation, that was all.”
“The too much heart you displayed in your reception of the King,” said La Fontaine, quietly, without suspicion that he was uttering a sacrilege.
“We cannot devote too much heart to the reception of our King,” said Fouquet, mildly, to his poet.
“Monsieur meant to say the too great ardor,” interrupted d’Artagnan, with perfect frankness and much amenity. “The fact is, Monseigneur, that hospitality was never practised as at Vaux.”
Madame Fouquet permitted her countenance to show clearly that if Fouquet had conducted himself well towards the King, the King had not rendered the like to the minister. But d’Artagnan knew the terrible secret. He alone with Fouquet knew it; those two men had not, the one the courage to complain, the other the right to accuse. The captain, to whom the two hundred pistoles were brought, was about to take leave, when Fouquet, rising, took a glass of wine, and ordered one to be given to d’Artagnan. “Monsieur,” said he, “to the health of the King, whatever may happen.”