D’Artagnan remained for an instant stupefied; but soon, reflecting that Aramis had left Vaux secretly with a mission from the King, he concluded that the King wished to preserve the secret of it, “Sire,” replied he, “does your Majesty absolutely require M. d’Herblay to be brought to you?”
“Absolutely is not the word,” said Philippe,- “I do not want him so particularly as that; but if he can be found-”
“I thought so,” said d’Artagnan to himself.
“Is this M. d’Herblay, Bishop of Vannes?” said Anne of Austria.
“Yes, Madame.”
“A friend of M. Fouquet?”
“Yes, Madame, an old musketeer.”
Anne of Austria blushed.
“One of the four braves who formerly performed such wonders.”
The old Queen repented of having wished to bite; she broke off the conversation, in order to preserve the rest of her teeth. “Whatever may be your choice, Sire,” said she, “I have no doubt it will be excellent.” All bowed in support of that sentiment.
“You will find in him,” continued Philippe, “the depth and penetration of M. de Richelieu, without the avarice of M. de Mazarin!”
“A prime minister, Sire?” said Monsieur, in a fright.
“I will tell you all about that, Brother; but it is strange that M. d’Herblay is not here!” He called out, “Let M. Fouquet be informed that I wish to speak to him- Oh, before you, before you; do not retire!”
M. de Saint-Aignan returned, bringing satisfactory news of the Queen, who only kept her bed from precaution, and to have strength to carry out all the King’s wishes. While some were seeking M. Fouquet and Aramis, Philippe quietly continued his experiments, and no one of the family, officers, or servants had the least suspicion; his air, voice, and manners were so like the King’s. On his side, Philippe, applying to all countenances the faithful description furnished by his accomplice Aramis, conducted himself so as not to give birth to a doubt in the minds of those who surrounded him.
Nothing from that time could disturb the usurper. With what strange facility had Providence just reversed the most elevated fortune of the world to substitute the most humble in its stead! Philippe admired the goodness of God with regard to himself, and seconded it with all the resources of his admirable nature. But he felt at times something like a shadow gliding between him and the rays of his new glory. Aramis did not appear. The conversation had languished in the royal family; Philippe, preoccupied, forgot to dismiss his brother and Madame Henrietta. The latter were astonished, and began by degrees to lose all patience. Anne of Austria stooped towards her son’s ear, and addressed some word to him in Spanish. Philippe was completely ignorant of that language, and grew pale at this unexpected obstacle. But as if the spirit of the imperturbable Aramis had covered him with his infallibility, instead of appearing disconcerted, Philippe rose. “Well! what?” said Anne of Austria.
“What is all that noise?” said Philippe, turning round towards the door of the second staircase.
And a voice was heard saying, “This way! this way! A few steps more, Sire!”
“The voice of M. Fouquet,” said d’Artagnan, who was standing close to the Queen-Mother.
“Then M. d’Herblay cannot be far off,” added Philippe.
But he then saw what he little thought to see so near to him. All eyes were turned towards the door at which M. Fouquet was expected to enter; but it was not M. Fouquet who entered. A terrible cry resounded from all corners of the chamber. It is not given to men, even to those whose destiny contains the strangest elements and accidents the most wonderful, to contemplate a spectacle similar to that which presented itself in the royal chamber at that moment. The half-closed shutters admitted the entrance of only an uncertain light, passing through large velvet curtains lined with silk. In this soft shade the eyes were by degrees dilated, and every one present saw others rather with faith than with positive sight. In these circumstances, however, not one of the surrounding details could escape; and any new object which presented itself appeared as luminous as if it had been enlightened by the sun. So it was with Louis XIV, when he showed himself pale and frowning in the doorway of the secret stairs. The face of Fouquet appeared behind him, impressed with sorrow and sternness. The Queen-Mother, who perceived Louis XIV, and who held the hand of Philippe, uttered the cry of which we have spoken, as if she had beheld a phantom. Monsieur was bewildered, and kept turning his head in astonishment from one to the other. Madame made a step forward, thinking she saw the form of her brother-in-law reflected in a glass; and, in fact, the illusion was possible.