of the fashion in which his name had been pronounced during
the rash enterprise of the morning. D’Artagnan made his
appearance just as the chief of the watch was giving his
report. He stood close to the door, behind the archers. That
officer took Colbert on one side, in spite of his resistance
and the contraction of his bushy eyebrows. “In case,” said
he, “you really desired, monsieur, that the people should do
justice on the two traitors, it would have been wise to warn
us of it; for, indeed, monsieur, in spite of our regret at
displeasing you, or thwarting your views, we had our orders
to execute.”
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“Triple fool!” replied Colbert, furiously shaking his hair,
thick and black as a mane, “what are you telling me? What!
that I could have had an idea of a riot! Are you mad or
drunk?”
“But, monsieur, they cried, `Vive Colbert!'” replied the
trembling watch.
“A handful of conspirators —- ”
“No, no; a mass of people.”
“Ah! indeed,” said Colbert, expanding. “A mass of people
cried, `Vive Colbert!’ Are you certain of what you say,
monsieur?”
“We had nothing to do but open our ears, or rather to close
them, so terrible were the cries.”
“And this was from the people, the real people?”
“Certainly, monsieur; only these real people beat us.”
“Oh! very well,” continued Colbert, thoughtfully. “Then you
suppose it was the people alone who wished to burn the
condemned?”
“Oh! yes, monsieur.”
“That is quite another thing. You strongly resisted, then?”
“We had three of our men crushed to death, monsieur!”
“But you killed nobody yourselves?”
“Monsieur, a few of the rioters were left upon the square,
and one among them who was not a common man.”
“Who was he?”
“A certain Menneville, upon whom the police have a long time
had an eye.”
“Menneville!” cried Colbert, “what, he who killed Rue de la
Huchette, a worthy man who wanted a fat fowl?”
“Yes, monsieur; the same.”
“And did this Menneville also cry, `Vive Colbert’?”
“Louder than all the rest, like a madman.”
Colbert’s brow grew dark and wrinkled. A kind of ambitious
glory which had lighted his face was extinguished, like the
light of glow-worms we crush beneath the grass. “Then you
say,” resumed the deceived intendant, “that the initiative
came from the people? Menneville was my enemy, I would have
had him hung, and he knew it well. Menneville belonged to
the Abbe Fouquet — the affair originated with Fouquet; does
not everybody know that the condemned were his friends from
childhood?”
“That is true,” thought D’Artagnan, “and thus are all my
doubts cleared up. I repeat it, Monsieur Fouquet many be
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called what they please, but he is a very gentlemanly man;”
“And,” continued Colbert, “are you quite sure Menneville is
dead?”
D’Artagnan thought the time was come for him to make his
appearance. “Perfectly, monsieur;” replied he, advancing
suddenly.
“Oh! is that you, monsieur?” said Colbert.
“In person,” replied the musketeer with his deliberate tone;
“it appears that you had in Menneville a pretty enemy.”
“It was not I, monsieur, who had an enemy,” replied Colbert;
“it was the king.”
“Double brute!” thought D’Artagnan, “to think to play the
great man and the hypocrite with me. Well,” continued he to
Colbert, “I am very happy to have rendered so good a service
to the king; will you take upon you to tell his majesty,
monsieur l’intendant?”
“What commission is this you give me, and what do you charge
me to tell his majesty, monsieur? Be precise, if you
please,” said Colbert, in a sharp voice, tuned beforehand to
hostility.
“I give you no commission,” replied D’Artagnan, with that
calmness which never abandons the banterer; “I thought it
would be easy for you to announce to his majesty that it was
I who, being there by chance, did justice upon Menneville
and restored things to order.”
Colbert opened his eyes and interrogated the chief of the
watch with a look — “Ah! it is very true,” said the latter,
“that this gentleman saved us.”
“Why did you not tell me monsieur, that you came to relate