D’Artagnan, who was just passing through the door, stopped at the voice of the King, retraced his steps, and Colbert was forced to leave the cabinet. His countenance assumed almost a purple hue, his black and threatening eyes shone with a dark fire beneath their thick brows; he stepped out, bowed before the King, half drew himself up in passing d’Artagnan, and went away with death in his heart.
D’Artagnan, on being left alone with the King, softened immediately, and composing his countenance, “Sire,” said he, “you are a young King. It is by the dawn that people judge whether the day will be fine or dull. How, Sire, will the people whom the hand of God has placed under your law argue of your reign, if between you and them you allow angry and violent ministers to act? But let us speak of myself, Sire; let us leave a discussion that may appear idle and perhaps inconvenient to you. Let us speak of myself. I have arrested M. Fouquet.”
“You took plenty of time about it,” said the King, sharply.
D’Artagnan looked at the King. “I perceive that I have expressed myself badly. I announced to your Majesty that I had arrested M. Fouquet.”
“You did; and what then?”
“Well, I ought to have told your Majesty that M. Fouquet had arrested me; that would have been more just. I re-establish the truth, then: I have been arrested by M. Fouquet.”
It was now the turn of Louis XIV to be surprised. His Majesty was astonished. D’Artagnan, with his quick glance, appreciated what was passing in the heart of his master. He did not allow him time to put any questions. He related, with that poetry, that picturesqueness, which perhaps he alone possessed at that period, the escape of Fouquet, the pursuit, the furious race, and, lastly, the inimitable generosity of the superintendent, who might have fled ten times over, who might have killed the adversary sent in pursuit of him, and who had preferred imprisonment, and perhaps worse, to the humiliation of him who wished to take his liberty from him. In proportion as the tale advanced, the King became agitated, devouring the narrator’s words, and knocking his finger-nails against one another.
“It results from this, then, Sire, in my eyes at least, that the man who conducts himself thus is a gallant man, and cannot be an enemy to the King. That is my opinion, and I repeat it to your Majesty. I know what the King will say to me, and I bow to it,- reasons of state. So be it! that in my eyes is very respectable. But I am a soldier, I have received my orders; my orders are executed,- very unwillingly on my part, it is true, but they are executed. I say no more.”
“Where is M. Fouquet at this moment?” asked Louis, after a short silence.
“M. Fouquet, Sire,” replied d’Artagnan, “is in the iron cage that M. Colbert had prepared for him, and is going as fast as four vigorous horses can drag him towards Angers.”
“Why did you leave him on the road?”
“Because your Majesty did not tell me to go to Angers. The proof, the best proof of what I advance, is that the King desired me to be sought for but this minute; and then I have another reason.”
“What is that?”
“While I was with him, poor M. Fouquet would never attempt to escape.”
“Well!” cried the King, with stupefaction.
“Your Majesty ought to understand, and does understand, certainly, that my warmest wish is to know that M. Fouquet is at liberty. I have given him to one of my brigadiers, the most stupid I could find among my Musketeers, in order that the prisoner might have a chance of escaping.”
“Are you mad, M. d’Artagnan?” cried the King, crossing his arms on his breast. “Do people speak such enormities, even when they have the misfortune to think them?”
“Ah, Sire, you cannot expect that I should be the enemy of M. Fouquet after what he has just done for you and me. No, no; if you desire that he should remain under your locks and bolts, never give him in charge to me; however closely wired might be the cage, the bird would in the end fly away.”