D’Eymeris. But even if the Chamber of Justice should condemn
them to death, the king will never ratify their
condemnation, and they cannot be executed without the king’s
signature.”
“The king has made M. Colbert intendant.”
“Oh!” cried Fouquet, as if he caught a glimpse of the abyss
that yawned beneath his feet, “impossible! impossible! But
who passed a pencil over the marks made by Colbert?”
“I did. I was afraid the first would be effaced.”
“Oh! I will know all.”
“You will know nothing, monsieur; you despise your enemy too
much for that.”
“Pardon me, my dear marquise; excuse me; yes, M. Colbert is
my enemy, I believe him to be so; yes, M. Colbert is a man
to be dreaded, I admit. But I! I have time, and as you are
here, as you have assured me of your devotion, as you have
allowed me to hope for your love, as we are alone —- ”
“I came here to save you, Monsieur Fouquet, and not to ruin
myself,” said the marquise, rising — “therefore, beware!
—- ”
“Marquise, in truth you terrify yourself too much at least,
unless this terror is but a pretext —- ”
“He is very deep, very deep; this M. Colbert: beware!”
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Fouquet, in his turn, drew himself up. “And I?” asked he.
“And you, you have only a noble heart. Beware! beware!”
“So?”
“I have done what was right, my friend, at the risk of my
reputation. Adieu!”
“Not adieu, au revoir!”
“Perhaps,” said the marquise, giving her hand to Fouquet to
kiss, and walking towards the door with so firm a step, that
he did not dare to bar her passage. As to Fouquet, he
retook, with his head hanging down and a fixed cloud on his
brow, the path of the subterranean passage along which ran
the metal wires that communicated from one house to the
other, transmitting, through two glasses, the wishes and
signals of hidden correspondents.
CHAPTER 55
The Abbe Fouquet
Fouquet hastened back to his apartment by the subterranean
passage, and immediately closed the mirror with the spring.
He was scarcely in his closet, when he heard some one
knocking violently at the door, and a well-known voice
crying: — “Open the door, monseigneur, I entreat you, open
the door!” Fouquet quickly restored a little order to
everything that might have revealed either his absence or
his agitation: he spread his papers over the desk, took up a
pen, and, to gain time, said, through the closed door, —
“Who is there?”
“What, monseigneur, do you not know me?” replied the voice.
“Yes, yes,” said Fouquet to himself, “yes, my friend I know
you well enough.” And then, aloud: “Is it not Gourville?”
“Why, yes, monseigneur.”
Fouquet arose, cast a last look at one of his glasses, went
to the door, pushed back the bolt, and Gourville entered.
“Ah, monseigneur! monseigneur!” cried he, “what cruelty!”
“In what?”
“I have been a quarter of an hour imploring you to open the
door, and you would not even answer me.”
“Once for all, you know that I will not be disturbed when I
am busy. Now, although I might make you an exception,
Gourville, I insist upon my orders being respected by
others.”
“Monseigneur, at this moment, orders, doors, bolts, locks,
and walls, I could have broken, forced and overthrown!”
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
“Ah! ah! it relates to some great event, then?” asked
Fouquet.
“Oh! I assure you it does, monseigneur,” replied Gourville.
“And what is this event?” said Fouquet, a little troubled by
the evident agitation of his most intimate confidant.
“There is a secret chamber of justice instituted,
monseigneur.”
“I know there is, but do the members meet, Gourville?”
“They not only meet, but they have passed a sentence,
monseigneur.”
“A sentence?” said the superintendent, with a shudder and
pallor he could not conceal. “A sentence! — and on whom?”
“Two of your best friends.”
“Lyodot and D’Eymeris, do you mean? But what sort of a
sentence?”
“Sentence of death.”
“Passed? Oh! you must be mistaken, Gourville; that is
impossible.”
“Here is a copy of the sentence which the king is to sign