“In an hour-” said Aramis to Fouquet.
“In an hour!” replied the latter, sighing.
“And the people who ask one another what is the good of these royal fetes!” continued the Bishop of Vannes, laughing with his forced smile.
“Alas! I, too, who am not the people, ask the same thing.”
“I will answer you in four-and-twenty hours, Monseigneur. Assume a cheerful countenance, for it is a day of joy.”
“Well, believe me or not, as you like, d’Herblay,” said the superintendent, with a swelling heart, pointing at the cortege of Louis, visible in the horizon, “the King certainly loves me but very little, nor do I care much for him; but I cannot tell you how it is that since he is approaching my house-”
“Well, what?”
“Well, then, since I know Louis is on his way hither, he is more sacred to me; he is my King, he is almost dear to me.”
“Dear!- yes,” said Aramis, playing upon the word, as the Abbe Terray did, at a later period, with Louis XV.
“Do not laugh, d’Herblay; I feel that if he were really to wish it, I could love that young man.”
“You should not say that to me,” returned Aramis, “but to M. Colbert.”
“To M. Colbert!” exclaimed Fouquet. “Why so?”
“Because he would allow you a pension out of the King’s privy purse, as soon as he becomes superintendent,” said Aramis, preparing to leave as soon as he had dealt this last blow.
“Where are you going?” returned Fouquet, with a gloomy look.
“To my own apartment, to change my costume, Monseigneur.”
“Where are you lodging, d’Herblay?”
“In the blue room on the second story.”
“The room immediately over the King’s room?”
“Precisely.”
“You will be subject to very great restraint there. What an idea to condemn yourself to a room where you cannot stir or move about!”
“During the night, Monseigneur, I sleep or read in my bed.”
“And your servants?”
“I have only one person with me. I find my reader quite sufficient. Adieu, Monseigneur! Do not overfatigue yourself; keep yourself fresh for the arrival of the King.”
“We shall see you by and by, I suppose, and your friend Du Vallon also?”
“He is lodging next to me, and is at this moment dressing.”
Then Fouquet, bowing, with a smile passed on, like a commander-in-chief who pays the different outposts a visit after the enemy has been signalled.
Chapter XL: The Wine of Melun
THE King had, in point of fact, entered Melun with the intention of merely passing through the city. The youthful monarch had an appetite for amusements. Only twice during the journey had he been able to catch a glimpse of La Valliere; and suspecting that his only opportunity of speaking to her would be after nightfall, in the gardens, and after the ceremonial of reception had been gone through, he had been very desirous to arrive at Vaux as early as possible. But he reckoned without his captain of the Musketeers and without M. Colbert. Like Calypso, who could not be consoled at the departure of Ulysses, our Gascon could not console himself for not having guessed why Aramis had asked Percerin to show him the King’s new costumes. “There is not a doubt,” he said to himself, “that my friend the Bishop of Vannes had some motive in that”; and then he began to rack his brains most uselessly. D’Artagnan, so intimately acquainted with all the court intrigues, who knew the position of Fouquet better even than Fouquet himself did, had conceived the strangest fancies and suspicions at the announcement of the fete, which would have ruined a wealthy man, and which became impossible, utter madness even, for a man so destitute as he was. And then, the presence of Aramis, who had returned from Belle-Isle, and been nominated by Fouquet inspector-general of all the arrangements; his perseverance in mixing himself up with all the superintendent’s affairs; his visit to Baisemeaux,- all this suspicious singularity of conduct had profoundly perplexed d’Artagnan during the last few weeks.
“With men of Aramis’s stamp,” he said, “one is never the stronger except with sword in hand. So long as Aramis continued a soldier, there was hope of getting the better of him; but since he has covered his cuirass with a stole, we are lost. But what can Aramis’s object be?” and d’Artagnan plunged again into deep thought. “What does it matter to me, after all,” he continued, “if his only object is to overthrow M. Colbert? And what else can he be after?” and d’Artagnan rubbed his forehead,- that fertile land, whence the plough-share of his nails had turned up so many and such admirable ideas. He at first thought of talking the matter over with Colbert; but his friendship for Aramis, the oath of earlier days, bound him too strictly. He revolted at the bare idea of such a thing; and, besides, he hated the financier. He wished to unburden his mind to the King; but the King would not be able to understand the suspicions which had not even the solidity of a shadow. He resolved to address himself to Aramis directly, the first time he met him. “I will take him,” said the musketeer, “between a couple of candles suddenly; I will place my hand upon his heart, and he will tell me- What will he tell me? Yes, he will tell me something; for, mordioux! there is something underneath.”