“M. Pelisson,” said he, in a sharp dry tone, “M. Gourville, and you, Monsieur,”- and he did not name La Fontaine,- “I cannot, without sensible displeasure, see you come to plead for one of the greatest criminals that it is the duty of my justice to punish. A King does not allow himself to be softened but by tears or by remorse,- the tears of the innocent, the remorse of the guilty. I have no faith either in the remorse of M. Fouquet or the tears of his friends, because the one is tainted to the very heart, and the others ought to dread coming to offend me in my own palace. For these reasons, I beg you, M. Pelisson, M. Gourville, and you, Monsieur, to say nothing that will not plainly proclaim the respect you have for my will.”
“Sire,” replied Pelisson, trembling at these terrible words, “we are come to say nothing to your Majesty that is not the most profound expression of the most sincere respect and love which are due to a King from all his subjects. Your Majesty’s justice is unquestionable; every one must yield to the sentences it pronounces. We respectfully bow before it. Far from us be the idea of coming to defend him who has had the misfortune to offend your Majesty. He who has incurred your displeasure may be a friend of ours, but he is an enemy of the State. We abandon him, but with tears, to the severity of the King.”
“Besides,” interrupted the King, calmed by that supplicating voice and those persuasive words, “my parliament will decide. I do not strike without having weighed the crime; my justice does not wield the sword without having employed the scales.”
“Therefore have we every confidence in that impartiality of the King, and hope to make our feeble voices heard, with the consent of your Majesty, when the hour for defending an accused friend shall strike for us.”
“In that case, Messieurs, what do you ask of me?” said the King, with his most imposing air.
“Sire,” continued Pelisson, “the accused leaves a wife and a family. The little property he had was scarcely sufficient to pay his debts, and Madame Fouquet since the captivity of her husband is abandoned by everybody. The hand of your Majesty strikes like the hand of God. When the Lord sends the curse of leprosy or pestilence into a family, every one flies and shuns the abode of the leprous or the plague-stricken. Sometimes, but very rarely, a generous physician alone ventures to approach the accursed threshold, passes it with courage, and exposes his life to combat death. He is the last resource of the dying; he is the instrument of heavenly mercy. Sire, we supplicate you with clasped hands and bended knees, as the Deity is supplicated! Madame Fouquet has no longer any friends, no longer any support; she weeps in her poor deserted house, abandoned by all those who besieged its door in the hour of prosperity; she has neither credit nor hope left. At least, the unhappy wretch upon whom your anger falls receives from you, however culpable he may be, the daily bread which is moistened by his tears. As much afflicted, more destitute than her husband, Madame Fouquet- she who had the honor to receive your Majesty at her table; Madame Fouquet, the wife of the ancient Superintendent of your Majesty’s Finances,- Madame Fouquet has no longer bread.”
Here the mortal silence which enchained the breath of Pelisson’s two friends was broken by an outburst of sobs; and d’Artagnan, whose chest heaved at hearing this humble prayer, turned round towards the corner of the cabinet to bite his mustache and conceal his sighs.
The King had kept his eye dry and his countenance severe; but the color had mounted to his cheeks, and the firmness of his look was visibly diminished.
“What do you wish?” said he, in an agitated voice.
“We come humbly to ask your Majesty,” replied Pelisson, upon whom emotion was fast gaining, “to permit us, without incurring the displeasure of your Majesty, to lend to Madame Fouquet two thousand pistoles collected among the old friends of her husband, in order that the widow may not stand in need of the necessaries of life.”