not have a cheese or an apple left me to eat, and that my
eyes will be left me only to weep with.”
“It is really a very grievous affair.”
“I have come to you, M. d’Artagnan, for you are the only man
who can get me out of my trouble.”
“In what way?”
“You are acquainted with the Abbe d’Herblay and you know
that he is a somewhat mysterious gentleman.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you can, perhaps, give me the address of his
presbytery, for I have been to Noisy-le-Sec, and he is no
longer there.”
“I should think not, indeed. He is Bishop of Vannes.”
“What! Vannes in Bretagne?”
“Yes.”
The little man began to tear his hair, saying, “How can I
get to Vannes from here by midday to-morrow? I am a lost
man.”
“Your despair quite distresses me.”
“Vannes, Vannes!” cried Baisemeaux.
“But listen; a bishop is not always a resident. M. d’Herblay
may not possibly be so far away as you fear.”
“Pray tell me his address.”
“I really don’t know it.”
“In that case I am lost. I will go and throw myself at the
king’s feet.”
“But, Baisemeaux, I can hardly believe what you tell me;
besides, since the Bastile is capable of producing fifty
thousand francs a year, why have you not tried to screw one
hundred thousand out of it?”
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“Because I am an honest man, M. d’Artagnan, and because my
prisoners are fed like ambassadors.”
“Well, you’re in a fair way to get out of your difficulties;
give yourself a good attack of indigestion with your
excellent living, and put yourself out of the way between
this and midday to-morrow.”
“How can you be hard-hearted enough to laugh?”
“Nay, you really afflict me. Come, Baisemeaux, if you can
pledge me your word of honor, do so, that you will not open
your lips to any one about what I am going to say to you.”
“Never, never!”
“You wish to put your hand on Aramis?”
“At any cost!”
“Well, go and see where M. Fouquet is.”
“Why, what connection can there be —- ”
“How stupid you are! Don’t you know that Vannes is in the
diocese of Belle-Isle, or Belle-Isle in the diocese of
Vannes? Belle-Isle belongs to M. Fouquet, and M. Fouquet
nominated M. d’Herblay to that bishopric!”
“I see, I see; you restore me to life again.”
“So much the better. Go and tell M. Fouquet very simply that
you wish to speak to M. d’Herblay.”
“Of course, of course,” exclaimed Baisemeaux, delightedly.
“But,” said D’Artagnan, checking him by a severe look, “your
word of honor?”
“I give you my sacred word of honor,” replied the little
man, about to set off running.
“Where are you going?”
“To M. Fouquet’s house.”
“It is useless doing that, M. Fouquet is playing at cards
with the king. All you can do is to pay M. Fouquet a visit
early to-morrow morning.”
“I will do so. Thank you.”
“Good luck attend you,” said D’Artagnan.
“Thank you.”
“This is a strange affair,” murmured D’Artagnan, as he
slowly ascended the staircase after he had left Baisemeaux.
“What possible interest can Aramis have in obliging
Baisemeaux in this manner? Well, I suppose we shall learn
some day or another.”
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CHAPTER 97
The King’s Card-table
Fouquet was present, as D’Artagnan had said, at the king’s
card-table. It seemed as if Buckingham’s departure had shed
a balm on the lacerated hearts of the previous evening.
Monsieur, radiant with delight, made a thousand affectionate
signs to his mother. The Count de Guiche could not separate
himself from Buckingham and while playing, conversed with
him upon the circumstance of his projected voyage.
Buckingham, thoughtful, and kind in his manner, like a man
who has adopted a resolution, listened to the count, and
from time to time cast a look full of regret and hopeless
affection at Madame. The princess, in the midst of her
elation of spirits, divided her attention between the king,
who was playing with her, Monsieur, who quietly joked her
about her enormous winnings, and De Guiche, who exhibited an
extravagant delight. Of Buckingham she took but little