“The Queen-Mother, perhaps?”
“Her Majesty the Queen-Mother has for M. Fouquet a weakness very prejudicial to her son.”
“Never believe that,” said the old duchess, smiling.
“Oh!” said Colbert, with incredulity, “I have often experienced it.”
“Formerly?”
“Very recently, Madame, at Vaux. It was she who prevented the King from having M. Fouquet arrested.”
“People do not always entertain the same opinions, my dear Monsieur. That which the Queen may have wished recently, she would not perhaps to-day.”
“And why not?” said Colbert, astonished.
“Oh, the reason is of very little consequence.”
“On the contrary, I think it is of great consequence,- for if I were certain of not displeasing her Majesty the Queen-Mother, all my scruples would be removed.”
“Well, have you never heard a certain secret spoken of?”
“A secret?”
“Call it what you like. In short, the Queen-Mother has conceived a horror for all those who have participated, in one fashion or another, in the discovery of this secret; and M. Fouquet I believe to be one of these.”
“Then,” said Colbert, “we may be sure of the Queen-Mother’s assent?”
“I have just left her Majesty, and she assures me so.”
“So be it then, Madame.”
“But there is something further: do you happen to know a man who was the intimate friend of M. Fouquet, M. d’Herblay, a bishop, I believe?”
“Bishop of Vannes.”
“Well, this M. d’Herblay, who also knew the secret, the Queen-Mother is causing to be pursued with the utmost rancor.”
“Indeed!”
“So hotly pursued, that if he were dead she would not be satisfied with anything less than his head, to satisfy her he would never speak again.”
“And is that the desire of the Queen-Mother?”
“An order is given for it.”
“This M. d’Herblay shall be sought for, Madame.”
“Oh, it is well known where he is.” Colbert looked at the duchess.
“Say where, Madame.”
“He is at Belle-Isle-en-Mer.”
“At the residence of M. Fouquet?”
“At the residence of M. Fouquet.”
“He shall be taken.”
It was now the duchess’s turn to smile. “Do not fancy that so easy,” said she, “and do not promise it so lightly.”
“Why not, Madame?”
“Because M. d’Herblay is not one of those people who can be taken just when you please.”
“He is a rebel, then?”
“Oh, M. Colbert, we folks have passed all our lives in making rebels, and yet you see plainly that so far from being taken, we take others.”
Colbert fixed upon the old duchess one of those fierce looks of which no words can convey the expression, accompanied by a firmness which was not wanting in grandeur. “The times are gone,” said he, “in which subjects gained duchies by making war against the King of France. If M. d’Herblay conspires, he will perish on the scaffold. That will give, or will not give, pleasure to his enemies,- that is of very little importance to us.”
And this “us,” a strange word in the mouth of Colbert, made the duchess thoughtful for a moment. She caught herself reckoning inwardly with this man. Colbert had regained his superiority in the conversation, and he was desirous of keeping it.
“You ask me, Madame,” he said, “to have this M. d’Herblay arrested?”
“I! I ask you nothing of the kind!”
“I thought you did, Madame. But as I have been mistaken, we will leave him alone; the King has said nothing about him.”
The duchess bit her nails.
“Besides,” continued Colbert, “what a poor capture would this bishop be! A bishop game for a king! Oh, no, no; I will not even think of him.”
The hatred of the duchess now disclosed itself. “Game for a woman!” said she; “and the Queen is a woman. If she wishes to have M. d’Herblay arrested, she has her reasons for it. Besides, is not M. d’Herblay the friend of him who is destined to fall?”
“Oh, never mind that,” said Colbert. “This man shall be spared if he is not the enemy of the King. Is that displeasing to you?”
“I say nothing.”
“Yes, you wish to see him in prison,- in the Bastille, for instance.”
“I believe a secret better concealed behind the walls of the Bastille than behind those of Belle-Isle.”