“You promise me that frankness?” said Fouquet.
“Upon my honor! But we are not come to that, believe me.”
“What makes you think that, M. d’Artagnan? For my part, I think quite the contrary.”
“I have heard of nothing of the kind,” replied d’Artagnan.
“Eh, eh!” said Fouquet.
“Indeed, no. You are an agreeable man, in spite of your fever. The King ought not, cannot help loving you, at the bottom of his heart.”
Fouquet’s face implied doubt. “But M. Colbert?” said he; “does M. Colbert also love me as much as you say?”
“I don’t speak of M. Colbert,” replied d’Artagnan. “He is an exceptional man, is that M. Colbert. He does not love you,- that is very possible; but, mordioux! the squirrel can guard himself against the adder with very little trouble.”
“Do you know that you are speaking to me quite as a friend?” replied Fouquet; “and that, upon my life! I have never met with a man of your intelligence and your heart?”
“You are pleased to say so,” replied d’Artagnan. “Why did you wait till today to pay me such a compliment?”
“How blind we are!” murmured Fouquet.
“Your voice is getting hoarse,” said d’Artagnan; “drink, Monseigneur, drink!” And he offered him a cup of tisane with the most friendly cordiality; Fouquet took it, and thanked him by a bland smile. “Such things happen only to me,” said the musketeer. “I have passed ten years under your very beard, while you were rolling about tons of gold. You were clearing an annual income of four millions; you never observed me; and you find out there is such a person in the world just at the moment-”
“I am about to fall,” interrupted Fouquet. “That is true, my dear M. d’Artagnan.”
“I did not say so.”
“But you thought so; and that is the same thing. Well, if I fall, take my word as truth, I shall not pass a single day without saying to myself, as I strike my brow, ‘Fool! fool!- stupid mortal! You had a M. d’Artagnan under your eye and hand, and you did not employ him, you did not enrich him!'”
“You quite overwhelm me,” said the captain. “I esteem you greatly.”
“There exists another man, then, who does not think as M. Colbert does,” said the superintendent.
“How this M. Colbert sticks in your stomach! He is worse than your fever!”
“Oh, I have good cause,” said Fouquet. “Judge for yourself”; and he related the details of the course of the lighters, and the hypocritical persecution of Colbert. “Is not this a clear sign of my ruin?”
D’Artagnan became serious. “That is true,” said he. “Yes; that has a bad odor, as M. de Treville used to say.” And he fixed upon M. Fouquet his intelligent and significant look.
“Am I not clearly aimed at in that, Captain? Is not the King bringing me to Nantes to get me away from Paris, where I have so many supporters, and to possess himself of Belle-Isle?”
“Where M. d’Herblay is,” added d’Artagnan. Fouquet raised his head. “As for me, Monseigneur,” continued d’Artagnan, “I can assure you the King has said nothing to me against you.”
“Indeed!”
“The King commanded me to set out for Nantes, it is true, and to say nothing about it to M. de Gesvres.”
“My friend.”
“To M. de Gesvres, yes, Monseigneur,” continued the musketeer, whose eyes did not cease to speak a language different from the language of his lips. “The King, moreover, commanded me to take a brigade of Musketeers, which is apparently superfluous, as the country is quite quiet.”
“A brigade,” said Fouquet, raising himself upon his elbow.
“Ninety-six horsemen, yes, Monseigneur. The same number as were employed in arresting Messieurs de Chalais, de Cinq-Mars, and Montmorency.”
Fouquet pricked up his ears at these words, pronounced without apparent value. “And besides?” said he.
“Well! nothing but insignificant orders,- such as guarding the castle, guarding every lodging, allowing none of M. de Gesvres’s Guards to occupy a single post,- M. de Gesvres, your friend.”
“And for myself,” cried Fouquet, “what orders had you?”
“For you, Monseigneur? Not the smallest word.”
“M. d’Artagnan, the safety of my honor, and perhaps of my life, is at stake. You would not deceive me?”