They saw, by the red flashesThey saw, by the red flashes of the lightning againstthe violet fog which the wind stamped upon the bankward sky, they sawpass gravely, at six paces behind the governor, a man clothed in blackand masked by a visor of polished steel, soldered to a helmet of thesame nature, which altogether enveloped the whole of hishead.—Page438.
D'Artagnan was surprised, but he took the order, which was in the king'sown writing, and was for two hundred pistoles. "What!" thought he, after having politely thanked M. Brienne's clerk, "M. Fouquet is to pay for the journey, then! Mordioux! that is a bit of pure Louis XI.! Why was not this order upon the chest of M. Colbert? He would have paid it with such joy." And D'Artagnan, faithful to his principle of never letting an order at sight get cold, went straight to the house of M. Fouquet, to receive his two hundred pistoles.
The surintendant had no doubt received advice of the approaching departure, for he was giving a farewell dinner to his friends. From the bottom to the top of the house, the hurry of the servants bearing dishes, and the diligence of theregistres, denoted an approaching change in both offices and kitchen. D'Artagnan, with his order in his hand, presented himself at thebureaux, when he was told it was too late to pay cash, the chest was closed. He only replied, "On the king's service."
The clerk, a little put out by the serious air of the captain, replied, that "that was a very respectable reason, but that the customs of the house were respectable likewise; and that, in consequence, he begged the bearer to call again next day." D'Artagnan asked if he could not see M. Fouquet. The clerk replied that M. le Surintendant did not interfere with such details; and rudely closed the outer door in D'Artagnan's face. But the latter had foreseen this stroke, and placed his boot between the door and the door-case, so that the lock did not catch, and the clerk was still nose to nose with his interlocutor. This made him change his tone, and say, with terrified politeness, "If monsieur wishes to speak to M. le Surintendant, he must go to the antechambers; these are the offices, where monseigneur never comes."
"Oh! very well! Where are they?" replied D'Artagnan.
"On the other side of the court," said the clerk, delighted at being free.
D'Artagnan crossed the court, and fell in with a crowd of servants.
"Monseigneur sees nobody at this hour," he was answered by a fellow carrying a vermeil dish, in which were three pheasants and twelve quails.
"Tell him," said the captain, laying hold of the servant by the end of his dish, "that I am M. d'Artagnan, captain of his majesty's musketeers."
The fellow uttered a cry of surprise and disappeared; D'Artagnan following him slowly. He arrived just in time to meet M. Pellisson in the antechamber; the latter, a little pale, came hastily out of the dining-room to learn what was the matter. D'Artagnan smiled.
"There is nothing unpleasant, Monsieur Pellisson; only a little order to receive the money for."
"Ah!" said Fouquet's friend, breathing more freely; and he took the captain by the hand, and, dragging him behind him, led him into the dining-room, where a number of friends surrounded the surintendant, placed in the center, and buried in the cushions of a fauteuil. There were assembled all the Epicureans who so lately at Vaux did the honors of the mansion of wit and money of M. Fouquet. Joyous friends, for the most part faithful, they had not fled their protector at the approach of the storm, and, in spite of the threatening heavens, in spite of the trembling earth, they remained there, smiling, cheerful, as devoted to misfortune as they had been to prosperity. On the left of the surintendant was Madame de Belliere; on his right was Madame Fouquet; as if braving the laws of the world, and putting all vulgar reasons of propriety to silence, the two protecting angels of this man united to offer him, at the moment of the crisis, the support of their intertwined arms. Madame de Belliere was pale, trembling, and full of respectful attentions for Madame la Surintendante, who, with one hand on the hand of her husband, was looking anxiously toward the door by which Pellisson had gone out to bring in D'Artagnan. The captain entered at first full of courtesy, and afterward of admiration, when, with his infallible glance, he had divined as well as taken in the expression of every face. Fouquet raised himself up in his chair.
"Pardon me, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he, "if I did not come to receive you when coming in the king's name." And he pronounced the last words with a sort of melancholy firmness, which filled the hearts of his friends with terror.
"Monseigneur," implied D'Artagnan, "I only come to you in the king's name to demand payment of an order for two hundred pistoles."
The clouds passed from every brow but that of Fouquet, which still remained overcast.
"Ah! then," said he, "perhaps you are also setting out for Nantes?"
"I do not know whither I am setting out for, monseigneur."
"But," said Madame Fouquet, recovered from her fright, "you are not going so soon, Monsieur le Capitaine, as not to do us the honor to take a seat with us?"
"Madame, I should esteem that a great honor done to me, but I am so pressed for time, that, you see, I have been obliged to permit myself to interrupt your repast to procure payment of my note."
"The reply to which shall be gold," said Fouquet, making a sign to his intendant, who went out with the order which D'Artagnan handed to him.
"Oh!" said the latter, "I was not uneasy about the payment; the house is good."
A painful smile passed over the pale features of Fouquet.
"Are you in pain?" asked Madame de Belliere.
"Do you feel your attack coming on?" asked Madame Fouquet.
"Neither, thank you both," said Fouquet.
"Your attack?" said D'Artagnan, in his turn; "are you unwell, monseigneur?"
"I have a tertian fever, which seized me after the fete at Vaux."
"Caught cold in the grottoes, at night, perhaps?"
"No, no; nothing but agitation, that was all."
"The too much heart you displayed in your reception of the king," said La Fontaine, quietly, without suspicion that he was uttering a sacrilege.
"We cannot devote too much heart to the reception of our king," said Fouquet, mildly, to his poet.
"Monsieur meant to say the too great ardor," interrupted D'Artagnan, with perfect frankness and much amenity. "The fact is, monseigneur, that hospitality was never practiced as at Vaux."
Madame Fouquet permitted her countenance to show clearly that if Fouquet had conducted himself well toward the king, the king had not rendered the like to the minister. But D'Artagnan knew the terrible secret. He alone with Fouquet knew it; those two men had not, the one the courage to complain, the other the right to accuse. The captain, to whom the two hundred pistols were brought, was about to take leave, when Fouquet, rising, took a glass of wine, and ordered one to be given to D'Artagnan.
"Monsieur," said he, "to the health of the king,whatever may happen."
"And to your health, monseigneur,whatever may happen," said D'Artagnan.
He bowed, with these words of evil omen, to all the company, who rose as soon as they heard the sound of his spurs and boots at the bottom of the stairs.
"I, for a moment, thought it was me and not my money he wanted," said Fouquet, endeavoring to laugh.
"You!" cried his friends; "and what for, in the name of Heaven?"
"Oh! do not deceive yourselves, my dear brothers in Epicurus!" said the superintendent; "I will not make a comparison between the most humble sinner on the earth and the God we adore, but remember, he gave one day to his friends a repast which is called the Last Supper, and which was nothing but a farewell dinner, like that which we are making at this moment."
A painful cry of denial arose from all parts of the table. "Shut the doors," said Fouquet, and the servants disappeared. "My friends," continued Fouquet, lowering his voice, "what was I formerly? What am I now? Consult among yourselves, and reply. A man like me sinks when he does not continue to rise. What shall we say, then, when he really sinks? I have no more money, no more credit; I have no longer anything but powerful enemies, and powerless friends."
"Quick!" cried Pellisson, rising. "Since you explain yourself with that frankness, it is our duty to be frank, likewise. Yes, you are ruined—yes, you are hastening to your ruin—stop. And, in the first place, what money have we left?"
"Seven hundred thousand livres," said the intendant.
"Bread," murmured Madame Fouquet.
"Relays," said Pellisson, "relays, and fly!"
"Whither?"
"To Switzerland—to Savoy—but fly!"
"If monseigneur flies," said Madame Belliere, "it will be said that he was guilty, and was afraid."
"More than that, it will be said that I have carried away twenty millions with me."
"We will draw up memoirs to justify you," said La Fontaine. "Fly!"
"I will remain," said Fouquet. "And, besides, does not everything serve me?"
"You have Belle-Isle," cried the Abbe Fouquet.
"And I am naturally going there, when going to Nantes," replied the surintendant. "Patience, then, patience!"
"Before arriving at Nantes, what a distance!" said Madame Fouquet.
"Yes, I know that well," replied Fouquet. "But what is to be done there? The king summons me to the States. I know well it is for the purpose of ruining me; but to refuse to go would be to evince uneasiness."
"Well, I have discovered the means of reconciling everything," cried Pellisson. "You are going to set out for Nantes."
Fouquet looked at him with an air of surprise.
"But with friends; but in your own carriage as far as Orleans; in your barge as far as Nantes; always ready to defend yourself, if you are attacked; to escape, if you are threatened. In fact, you will carry your money against all chances; and, while flying, you will only have obeyed the king; then, reaching the sea when you like, you will embark for Belle-Isle, and from Belle-Isle you will shoot out whenever it may please you, like the eagle which rushes into space when it has been driven from its eyrie."
A general assent followed Pellisson's words. "Yes, do so," said Madame Fouquet to her husband.
"Do so," said Madame Belliere.
"Do it! do it!" cried all his friends.
"I will do so," replied Fouquet.
"This very evening?"
"In an hour?"
"Immediately."
"With seven hundred thousand livres you can lay the foundation of another fortune," said the Abbe Fouquet. "What is there to prevent our arming corsairs at Belle-Isle?"
"And if necessary, we will go and discover a new world," added La Fontaine, intoxicated with projects and enthusiasm.
A knock at the door interrupted this concert of joy and hope. "A courier from the king," said the master of the ceremonies.
A profound silence immediately ensued, as if the message brought by this courier was nothing but a reply to all the projects given birth to an instant before. Every one waited to see what the master would do. His brow was streaming with perspiration, and he was really suffering from his fever at that instant. He passed into his cabinet to receive the king's message. There prevailed, as we have said, such a silence in the chambers, and throughout the attendance, that from the dining-room could be heard the voice of Fouquet saying, "That is well, monsieur." This voice was, however, broken by fatigue, trembling with emotion. An instant after Fouquet called Gourville, who crossed the gallery amid the universal expectation. At length, he himself reappeared among his guests; but it was no longer the same pale, spiritless countenance they had beheld when he left them; from pale he had become livid; and from spiritless, annihilated. A living specter, he advanced with his arms stretched out, his mouth parched, like a shade that comes to salute friends of former days. On seeing him thus, every one cried out, and every one rushed toward Fouquet. The latter, looking at Pellisson, leaned upon the surintendante, and pressed the icy hand of the Marquise de Belliere.
"Well!" said he, in a voice which had nothing human in it.
"What has happened, my God!" said some one to him.
Fouquet opened his right hand, which was clenched, humid, and displayed a paper, upon which Pellisson cast a terrified glance. He read the following lines, written by the king's hand:
"'Dear and well-beloved Monsieur Fouquet—Give us, upon that which you have left of ours, the sum of seven hundred thousand livres, of which we stand in need to prepare for our departure."'And, as we know your health is not good, we pray God to restore you to health, and to have you in His holy keeping.Louis."'The present letter is to serve as a receipt.'"
"'Dear and well-beloved Monsieur Fouquet—Give us, upon that which you have left of ours, the sum of seven hundred thousand livres, of which we stand in need to prepare for our departure.
"'And, as we know your health is not good, we pray God to restore you to health, and to have you in His holy keeping.
Louis.
"'The present letter is to serve as a receipt.'"
A murmur of terror circulated through the apartment.
"Well!" cried Pellisson, in his turn, "you have received that letter?"
"Received it, yes!"
"What will you do, then?"
"Nothing, since I have received it."
"But—"
"If I have received it, Pellisson, I have paid it," said the surintendant, with a simplicity that went to the heart of all present.
"You have paid it!" cried Madame Fouquet. "Then we are ruined!"
"Come, no useless words," interruptedPellisson. "After money, life. Monseigneur, to horse! to horse!"
"What, leave us!" at once cried both the women, wild with grief.
"Eh! monseigneur, in saving yourself, you save us all. To horse!"
"But he cannot hold himself on. Look at him."
"Oh! if he takes time to reflect—" said the intrepid Pellisson.
"He is right," murmured Fouquet.
"Monseigneur! monseigneur!" cried Gourville, rushing up the stairs, four steps at once. "Monseigneur!"
"Well! What?"
"I escorted, as you desired, the king's courier with the money."
"Yes."
"Well! when I arrived at the Palais Royal, I saw—"
"Take breath, my poor friend, take breath; you are suffocating."
"What did you see?" cried the impatient friends.
"I saw the musketeers mounting on horseback," said Gourville.
"There, then!" cried all voices at once; "there, then! is there an instant to be lost?"
Madame Fouquet rushed downstairs, calling for her horses; Madame de Belliere flew after her, catching her in her arms, and saying:
"Madame, in the name of his safety, do not show anything, do not manifest any alarm."
Pellisson ran to have the horses put to the carriages. And, in the meantime, Gourville gathered in his hat all that the weeping friends were able to throw into it of gold and silver—the last offering, the pious alms made to misfortune by poverty. The surintendant, dragged along by some, carried by others, was shut up in his carriage. Gourville took the reins, and mounted the box. Pellisson supported Madame Fouquet, who had fainted. Madame de Belliere had more strength, and was well paid for it; she received Fouquet's last kiss. Pellisson easily explained this precipitate departure by saying that an order from the king had summoned the minister to Nantes.
As Gourville had seen, the king's musketeers were mounting and following their captain. The latter, who did not like to be confined in his proceedings, left his brigade under the orders of a lieutenant, and set off, on his part, upon post horses, recommending his men to use all diligence. However rapidly they might travel, they could not arrive before him. He had time, in passing along the Rue des Petits-Champs, to see a thing which afforded him plenty of food for thought, and conjecture. He saw M. Colbert coming out from his house to get into his carriage, which was stationed before the door. In this carriage D'Artagnan perceived the hoods of two women, and being rather curious, he wished to know the names of the women concealed beneath these hoods. To get a glimpse at them, for they kept themselves closely covered up, he urged his horse so near to the carriage, that he drove him against the step with such force as to shake everything containing and contained. The terrified women uttered, the one a faint cry, by which D'Artagnan recognized a young woman, the other an imprecation, by which he recognized the vigor andaplombwhich half a century bestows. The hoods were thrown back: one of the women was Madame Vanel, the other was the Duchesse de Chevreuse. D'Artagnan's eyes were quicker than those of the ladies; he had seen and known them, while they did not recognize him; and as they laughed at their fright, pressing each other's hands—
"Humph!" said D'Artagnan, "the old duchesse is not more difficult in her friendships than she was formerly. She paying her court to the mistress of M. Colbert! Poor M. Fouquet! that presages you nothing good!"
He rode on. M. Colbert got into his carriage, and this noble trio commenced a sufficiently slow pilgrimage toward the wood of Vincennes. Madame de Chevreuse set down Madame Vanel at her husband's house, and, left alone with M. Colbert, she chatted upon affairs, while continuing her ride. She had an inexhaustible fund of conversation, had that dear duchesse, and as she always talked for the ill of others, always with a view to her own good, her conversation amused her interlocutor, and did not fail to leave a favorable impression behind.
She taught Colbert, who, poor man! was ignorant of it, how great a minister he was, and how Fouquet would soon become nothing. She promised to rally around him, when he should become surintendant, all the old nobility of the kingdom, and questioned him as to the preponderance it would be proper to allow La Valliere to take. She praised him, she blamed him, she bewildered him. She showed him the secret of so many secrets, that, for a moment, Colbert feared he must have to do with the devil. She proved to him that she held in her hand the Colbert of to-day, as she had held the Fouquet of yesterday; and as he asked her very simply the reason of her hatred for the surintendant: "Why do you yourself hate him?" said she.
"Madame, in politics," replied he, "the differences of system may bring about divisions between men. M. Fouquet always appeared to me to practice a system opposed to the true interests of the king."
She interrupted him.—"I will say no more to you about M. Fouquet. The journey the king is about to take to Nantes will give a good account of him. M. Fouquet, for me, is a man quite gone by—and for you also."
Colbert made no reply. "On his return from Nantes," continued the duchesse, "the king, who is only anxious for a pretext, will find that the States have not behaved well—that they have made too few sacrifices. The States will say that the imposts are too heavy, and that the surintendant has ruined them. The king will lay all the blame on M. Fouquet, and then—"
"And then?" said Colbert.
"Oh! he will be disgraced. Is not that your opinion?"
Colbert darted a glance at the duchesse, which plainly said: "If M. Fouquet be only disgraced, you will not be the cause of it."
"Your place, M. Colbert," the duchesse hastened to say, "must be quite a marked place. Do you perceive any one between the king and yourself, after the fall of M. Fouquet?"
"I do not understand," said he.
"You will understand. To what does your ambition aspire?"
"I have none."
"It was useless then to overthrow the surintendant, Monsieur Colbert. That is idle."
"I had the honor to tell you, Madame—"
"Oh! yes, I know, all about the interest of the king—but, if you please, we will speak of your own."
"Mine! that is to say the affairs of his majesty."
"In short, are you, or are you not ruining M. Fouquet? Answer without evasion."
"Madame, I ruin nobody."
"I cannot then comprehend why you should purchase of me the letters of M. Mazarin concerning M. Fouquet. Neither can I conceive why you have laid those letters before the king."
Colbert, half stupefied, looked at the duchesse with an air of constraint.
"Madame," said he, "I can less easily conceive how you, who received the money, can reproach me on that head."
"That is," said the old duchesse, "because we must will that which we wish for, unless we are not able to obtain what we wish."
"Will!" said Colbert, quite confounded by such coarse logic.
"You are not able, hein! Speak."
"I am not able, I allow, to destroy certain influences near the king."
"Which combat for M. Fouquet? What are they? Stop, let me help you."
"Do, madame."
"La Valliere?"
"Oh! very little influence; no knowledge of business, and small means. M. Fouquet has paid his court to her."
"To defend him would be to accuse herself, would it not?"
"I think it would."
"There is still another influence, what do you say to that?"
"Is it considerable?"
"The queen-mother, perhaps?"
"Her majesty, the queen-mother, has for M. Fouquet a weakness very prejudicial to her son."
"Never believe that," said the old duchess, smiling.
"Oh!" said Colbert, with incredulity, "I have often experienced it."
"Formerly?"
"Very recently, madame, at Vaux. It was she who prevented the king from having M. Fouquet arrested."
"People do not always entertain the same opinions, my dear monsieur. That which the queen may have wished recently, she would not, perhaps, to-day."
"And why not?" said Colbert, astonished.
"Oh! the reason is of very little consequence."
"On the contrary, I think it is of great consequence; for, if I were certain of not displeasing her majesty the queen-mother, all my scruples would be removed."
"Well! have you never heard talk of a certain secret?"
"A secret?"
"Call it what you like. In short, the queen-mother has conceived a horror for all those who have participated, in one fashion or another, in the discovery of this secret, and M. Fouquet, I believe to be one of these."
"Then," said Colbert, "we may be sure of the assent of the queen-mother?"
"I have just left her majesty, and she assures me so."
"So be it then, madame."
"But there is something further: do you happen to know a man who was the intimate friend of M. Fouquet, a M. d'Herblay, a bishop, I believe?"
"Bishop of Vannes."
"Well! this M. d'Herblay, who also knew the secret, the queen-mother is having him pursued with the utmost rancor."
"Indeed!"
"So hotly pursued, that if he were dead she would not be satisfied with anything less than his head, to satisfy her he would never speak again."
"And is that the desire of the queen-mother?"
"An order is given for it."
"This Monsieur d'Herblay shall be sought for, madame."
"Oh! it is well known where he is."
Colbert looked at the duchesse.
"Say where, madame."
"He is at Belle-Isle-en-Mer."
"At the residence of M. Fouquet?"
"At the residence of M. Fouquet."
"He shall be taken."
It was now the duchesse's turn to smile. "Do not fancy that so easy," said she, "and do not promise it so lightly."
"Why not, madame?"
"Because M. d'Herblay is not one of those people who can be taken just when you please."
"He is a rebel, then!"
"Oh! Monsieur Colbert, we folks have passed all our lives in making rebels, and yet you see plainly, that so far from being taken, we take others."
Colbert fixed upon the old duchesse one of those fierce looks of which no words can convey the expression, accompanied by a firmness which was not wanting in grandeur. "The times are gone," said he, "in which subjects gained duchies by making war against the king of France. If M. d'Herblay conspires, he will perish on the scaffold. That will give, or will not give, pleasure to his enemies—that is of very little importance tous."
And thisus, a strange word in the mouth of Colbert, made the duchesse thoughtful for a moment. She caught herself reckoning inwardly with this man.—Colbert had regained his superiority in the conversation, and he was desirous of keeping it.
"You ask me, madame," he said, "to have this M. d'Herblay arrested?"
"I!—I ask you nothing of the kind!"
"I thought you did, madame. But as I have been mistaken, we will leave him alone; the king has said nothing about him."
The duchesse bit her nails.
"Besides," continued Colbert, "what a poor capture would this bishop be! A bishop game for a king! Oh! no, no; I will not even take the least notice of him."
The hatred of the duchesse now discovered itself.
"Game for a woman!" said she, "and the queen is a woman. If she wishes to have M. d'Herblay arrested, she has her reasons for it. Besides, is not M. d'Herblay the friend of him who is destined to fall?"
"Oh! never mind that," said Colbert. "This man shall be spared, if he is not the enemy of the king. Is that displeasing to you?"
"I say nothing."
"Yes—you wish to see him in prison, in the Bastille for instance."
"I believe a secret better concealed behind the walls of the Bastille than behind those of Belle-Isle."
"I will speak to the king about it; he will clear up the point."
"And while wailing for that enlightenment, Monsieur l'Eveque de Vannes will have escaped. I would do so."
"Escaped! he! and whither would he escape? Europe is ours, in will, if not in fact."
"He will always find an asylum, monsieur. It is evident you know nothing of the man you have to do with. You do not know D'Herblay; you did not know Aramis. He was one of those four musketeers who, under the late king, made Cardinal de Richelieu tremble, and who, during the regency, gave so much trouble to Monseigneur Mazarin."
"But, madame, what can he do, unless he has a kingdom to back him?"
"He has one, monsieur."
"A kingdom, he! what Monsieur d'Herblay?"
"I repeat to you, monsieur, that if he wants a kingdom, he either has it, or will have it."
"Well, as you are so earnest that this rebel should not escape, madame, I promise you he shall not escape."
"Belle-Isle is fortified, M. Colbert, and fortified by him."
"If Belle-Isle were also defended by him, Belle-Isle is not impregnable; and if Monsieur l'Eveque de Vannes is shut up in Belle-Isle, well, madame, the place will be besieged, and he will be taken."
"You may be very certain, monsieur, that the zeal which you display for the interests of the queen-mother will affect her majesty warmly, and that you will be magnificently rewarded for it; but what shall I tell her of your projects respecting this man?"
"That when once taken, he shall be shut up in a fortress from which her secret shall never escape."
"Very well, Monsieur Colbert, and we may say, that, dating from this instant, we have formed a solid alliance; that is, you and I, and that I am perfectly at your service."
"It is I, madame, who place myself at yours. This Chevalier d'Herblay is a kind of Spanish spy, is he not?"
"More than that."
"A secret ambassador!"
"Higher still."
"Stop—King Philip III. of Spain is a bigot. He is, perhaps, the confessor of Philip III."
"You must go much higher than that."
"Mordieu!" cried Colbert, who forgot himself so far as to swear in the presence of this great lady, of this old friend of the queen-mother—of the Duchesse de Chevreuse, in short. "He must then be the general of the Jesuits?"
"I believe you have guessed at last," replied the duchesse.
"Ah! then, madame, this man will ruin us all if we do not ruin him; and we must make haste to do it, too."
"That was my opinion, monsieur, but I did not dare to give it you."
"And it is fortunate for us that he has attacked the throne, and not us."
"But, mark this well, M. Colbert. M. d'Herblay is never discouraged; and if he has missed one blow, he will be sure to make another: he will begin again. If he has allowed an opportunity to escape of making a king for himself, sooner or later, he will make another, of whom, to a certainty, you will not be prime minister."
Colbert knitted his brow with a menacing expression.
"I feel assured that a prison will settle this affair for us, madame, in a manner satisfactory for both." The duchesse smiled again.
"Oh! if you knew," said she, "how many times Aramis has got out of prison!"
"Oh!" replied Colbert, "we will take care he shall not get out this time."
"But you have not attended to what I said to you just now. Do you remember that Aramis was one of the four invincibles whom Richelieu dreaded? And at that period the four musketeers were not in possession of that which they have now—money and experience."
Colbert bit his lips.
"We will renounce the idea of the prison," said he, in a lower tone; "we will find a retreat from which the invincible will not possibly escape."
"That is well spoken, our ally!" replied the duchesse. "But it is getting late; had we not better return?"
"The more willingly, madame, from my having my preparations to make for setting out with the king."
"To Paris!" cried the duchesse to the coachman.
And the carriage returned toward the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, after the conclusion of the treaty which gave up to death the last friend of Fouquet, the last defender of Belle-Isle, the ancient friend of Marie Michon, the new enemy of the duchesse.
D'Artagnan had set off; Fouquet likewise was gone, and he with a rapidity which doubled the tender interest of his friends. The first moments of this journey, or better to say, of this flight, were troubled by the incessant fear of all the horses and all the carriages which could be perceived behind the fugitive. It was not natural, in fact, if Louis XIV. was determined to seize this prey, that he should allow it to escape; the young lionwas already accustomed to the chase, and he had bloodhounds sufficiently ardent to allow him to depend upon them. But insensibly all the fears were dispersed; the surintendant, by hard traveling, placed such a distance between himself and his persecutors, that no one of them could reasonably be expected to overtake him. As to his position, his friends had made it excellent for him. Was he not traveling to join the king at Nantes, and what did the rapidity prove but his zeal to obey? He arrived, fatigued but reassured, at Orleans, where he found, thanks to the care of a courier who had preceded him, a handsome lighter of eight oars. These lighters, in the shape of gondolas, rather wide and rather heavy, containing a small covered chamber in shape of a deck, and a chamber in the poop, formed by a tent, then acted as passage-boats from Orleans to Nantes, by the Loire, and this passage, a long one in our days, appeared then more easy and convenient than the high road, with its post hacks, or its bad, scarcely hung carriages. Fouquet went on board this lighter, which set out immediately. The rowers, knowing they had the honor of conveying the surintendant of the finances, pulled with all their strength, and that magic word, thefinances, promised them a liberal gratification, of which they wished to prove themselves worthy. The lighter bounded over the tiny waves of the Loire. Magnificent weather, one of those sun risings that empurple landscapes, left the river all its limpid serenity. The current and the rowers carried Fouquet along as wings carry a bird, and he arrived before Beaugency without any accident having signalized the voyage. Fouquet hoped to be the first to arrive at Nantes; there he would see the notables and gain support among the principal members of the States; he would make himself necessary, a thing very easy for a man of his merit, and would delay the catastrophe, if he did not succeed in avoiding it entirely. "Besides," said Gourville to him, "at Nantes, you will make out, or we will make out, the intentions of your enemies; we will have horses always ready to convey you to the inextricable Poitou, a bark in which to gain the sea, and when once in the open sea, Belle-Isle is the inviolable port. You see, besides, that no one is watching you, no one is following you." He had scarcely finished when they discovered at a distance, behind an elbow formed by the river, the masts of a large lighter, which was coming down. The rowers of Fouquet's boat uttered a cry of surprise on seeing this galley.
"What is the matter?" asked Fouquet.
"The matter is, monseigneur," replied the patron of the bark, "that it is a truly remarkable thing—that lighter comes along like a hurricane."
Gourville started, and mounted on the deck, in order to see the better.
Fouquet did not go up with him, but he said to Gourville with a restrained mistrust: "See what it is, dear friend."
The lighter had just passed the elbow. It came on so fast, that behind it might be seen to tremble the white train of its wake illumined with the fires of day.
"How they go," repeated the patron, "how they go! They must be well paid! I did not think," he added, "that oars of wood could behave better than ours, but those yonder prove the contrary."
"Well they may," said one of the rowers, "they are twelve, and we are but eight."
"Twelve rowers!" replied Gourville, "twelve! impossible."
The number of eight rowers for a lighter had never been exceeded, even for the king. This honor had been paid to Monsieur le Surintendant, much more for the sake of haste than of respect.
"What does that mean?" said Gourville, endeavoring to distinguish beneath the tent which was already apparent, travelers which the most piercing eye could not yet have succeeded in discovering.
"They must be in a hurry, for it is not the king," said the patron.
Fouquet shuddered.
"By what do you know that it is not the king?" said Gourville.
"In the first place, because there is no white flag with fleurs-de-lis, which the royal lighter always carries."
"And then," said Fouquet, "because it is impossible it should be the king, Gourville, as the king was still in Paris yesterday."
Gourville replied to the surintendant by a look which said: "You were there yourself yesterday."
"And by what do you make out they are in such haste?" added he, for the sake of gaining time.
"By this, monsieur," said the patron; "these people must have set out a long while after us, and they have already nearly overtaken us."
"Bah!" said Gourville, "who told you that they do not come from Beaugency or from Moit, even?"
"We have seen no lighter of that shape, except at Orleans. It comes from Orleans, monsieur, and makes great haste."
Fouquet and Gourville exchanged a glance. The patron remarked their uneasiness, and to mislead him, Gourville immediately said:
"Some friend, who has laid a wager he would catch us; let us win the wager, and not allow him to come up with us."
The patron opened his mouth to reply that that was impossible, when Fouquet said with muchhauteur:
"If it is any one who wishes to overtake us, let him come."
"We can try, monseigneur," said the patron, timidly. "Come, you fellows, put out your strength, row, row!"
"No," said Fouquet, "stop short, on the contrary."
"Monseigneur! what folly!" interrupted Gourville, stooping toward his ear.
"Quite short!" repeated Fouquet. The eight oars stopped, and resisting the water, they created a retrograde motion in the lighter. It was stopped. The twelve rowers in the other did not, at first, perceive this maneuver, for they continued to urge on their boat so vigorously that it arrived quickly within musket-shot. Fouquet was short-sighted, Gourville was annoyed by the sun, which was full in his eyes: the patron alone,with that habit and clearness which are acquired by a constant struggle with the elements, perceived distinctly the travelers in the neighboring lighter. "I can see them!" cried he, "there are two."
"I can see nothing," said Gourville. "You will not be long before you distinguish them: in twenty strokes of their oars they will be within twenty paces of us."
But what the patron announced was not realized; the lighter imitated the movement commanded by Fouquet, and instead of coming to join its pretended friends, it stopped short in the middle of the river.
"I cannot comprehend this," said the patron.
"Nor I, neither," said Gourville.
"You who can see so plainly the people in that lighter," resumed Fouquet, "try to describe them to us, patron, before we are too far off."
"I thought I saw two," replied the boatman, "I can only see one now under the tent."
"What sort of man is he?"
"He is a dark man, large shouldered, short necked."
A little cloud at that moment passed across the azure of the heavens, and darkened the sun. Gourville, who was still looking, with one hand over his eyes, became able to see what he sought, and all at once, jumping from the deck into the chamber where Fouquet awaited him:
"Colbert!" said he, in a voice broken by emotion.
"Colbert!" repealed Fouquet, "Oh! how strange! but no, it is impossible!"
"I tell you I recognized him, and he, at the same time, so plainly recognized me, that he has just gone into the chamber on the poop. Perhaps the king has sent him to make us come back."
"In that case he would join us, instead of lying by. What is he doing there?"
"He is watching us, without doubt."
"I do not like uncertainty," said Fouquet; "let us go straight up to him."
"Oh! monseigneur, do not do that, the lighter is full of armed men."
"He would arrest me, then, Gourville? Why does he not come on?"
"Monseigneur, it is not consistent with your dignity to go to meet even your ruin."
"But to allow them to watch me like a malefactor!"
"Nothing tells us that they are watching you, monseigneur; be patient!"
"What is to be done, then?"
"Do not stop; you were only going so fast to appear to obey the king's order with zeal. Redouble the speed. He who lives will see!"
"That's just. Come!" cried Fouquet; "since they remain stockstill yonder, let us go on, on our part."
The patron gave the signal, and Fouquet's rowers resumed their task with all the success that could be looked for from men who had rested. Scarcely had the lighter made a hundred fathoms, than the other, that with the twelve rowers, resumed its course equally. This position lasted all the day, without any increase or diminution of distance between the two vessels. Toward evening Fouquet wished to try the intentions of his persecutor. He ordered his rowers to pull toward the shore, as if to effect a landing. Colbert's lighter imitated this maneuver and steered toward the shore in a slanting direction. By the greatest chance, at the spot where Fouquet pretended to wish to land, a stableman, from the chateau of Langeais, was following the flowery banks leading three horses in halters. Without doubt the people of the twelve-oared lighter fancied that Fouquet was directing his course toward horses prepared for his flight, for four or five men, armed with muskets, jumped from the lighter on to the shore, and marched along the banks, as if to gain ground on the horses and horsemen. Fouquet, satisfied of having forced the enemy to a demonstration, considered it evident, and put his boat in motion again. Colbert's people returned likewise to theirs, and the course of the two vessels was resumed with fresh perseverance. Upon seeing this, Fouquet felt himself threatened closely, and in a prophetic voice—"Well, Gourville," said he, whisperingly, "what did I say at ourlast repast, at my house? Am I going, or not, to my ruin?"
"Oh! monseigneur!"
"These two boats, which follow each other with so much emulation, as if we were disputing, M. Colbert and I, a prize for swiftness on the Loire, do they not aptly represent our two fortunes: and do you not believe, Gourville, that one of the two will be wrecked at Nantes?"
"At least," objected Gourville, "there is still uncertainty; you are about to appear at the States; you are about to show what sort of man you are; your eloquence and your genius for business are the buckler and sword that will serve to defend you, if not to conquer with. The Bretons do not know you: and when they shall know you your cause is won! Oh! let M. Colbert look to it well, for his lighter is as much exposed as yours to being upset. Both go quickly, his faster than yours, it is true; we shall see which will be wrecked first."
Fouquet, taking Gourville's hand, "My friend," said he, "everything considered, remember the proverb, 'First come, first served!' Well! M. Colbert takes care not to pass me. He is a prudent man, that M. Colbert!"
He was right; the two lighters held their course as far as Nantes, watching each other. When the surintendant landed, Gourville hoped he should be able to seek refuge at once and have relays prepared. But, at the landing, the second lighter joined the first, and Colbert, approaching Fouquet, saluted him on the quay with marks of the profoundest respect—marks so significant, so public, that their result was the bringing of the whole population upon La Fosse. Fouquet was completely self-possessed; he felt that in his last moments of greatness he had obligations toward himself. He wished to fall from such a height that his fall should crush some one of his enemies. Colbert was there—so much the worse for Colbert. The surintendant, therefore, coming up to him, replied with that arrogant winking of the eyes peculiar to him, "What! is that you, M. Colbert?"
"To offer you my respects, monseigneur," said the latter.
"Were you in that lighter?" pointing to the one with twelve rowers.
"Yes, monseigneur."
"Of twelve rowers?" said Fouquet; "what luxury, M. Colbert. For a moment, I thought it was the queen-mother or the king."
"Monseigneur!" and Colbert blushed.
"This is a voyage that will cost those who have to pay for it dear, M. l'Intendant!" said Fouquet. "But you have, happily, arrived!—You see, however," added he, a moment after, "that I, who had but eight rowers, arrived ahead of you." And he turned his back toward him, leaving him uncertain whether all the tergiversations of the second lighter had escaped the notice of the first. At least he did not give him the satisfaction of showing that he had been frightened. Colbert, so annoyingly attacked, did not give way.
"I have not been quick, monseigneur," he replied, "because I followed your example whenever you stopped."
"And why did you do that, M. Colbert?" cried Fouquet, irritated by this base audacity; "as you had a superior crew to mine, why did you not either join me or pass me?"
"Out of respect," said the intendant, bowing to the ground.
Fouquet got into a carriage which the city sent to him, we know not why or how, and he repaired tola Maison de Nantes, escorted by a vast crowd of people, who, for several days, had been boiling with the expectation of a convocation of the States. Scarcely was he installed, when Gourville went out to go and order horses, upon the route to Poitiers and Vannes, and a boat at Paimbœuf. He performed these various operations with so much mystery, activity, and generosity, that never was Fouquet, then laboring under an access of fever, more near being saved, except for the co-operation of that immense disturber of human projects—chance. A report was spread during the night that the king was coming in great haste upon post-horses, and that he would arrive within ten or twelve hours at latest. The people, while waiting for the king, were greatly rejoiced to see the musketeers, freshly arrived with M. d'Artagnan, their captain, and quartered in the castle, of which they occupied all the posts, in quality of guard of honor. M. d'Artagnan, who was very polite, presented himself about ten o'clock at the lodgings of the surintendant, to pay his respectful compliments to him; and although the minister suffered from fever, although he was in such pain as to be bathed in sweat, he would receive M. d'Artagnan, who was delighted with that honor, as will be seen by the conversation they had together.
Fouquet was gone to bed, like a man who clings to life, and who economizes as much as possible that slender tissue of existence of which the shocks and angles of this world so quickly wear out the irreparable tenuity. D'Artagnan appeared at the door of this chamber, and was saluted by the surintendant with a very affable "good day."
"Bon jour! monseigneur," replied the musketeer, "how did you get through the journey?"
"Tolerably well, thank you."
"And the fever?"
"But sadly. I drink, as you see. I am scarcely arrived, and I have already levied a contribution of tisane upon Nantes."
"You should sleep first, monseigneur."
"Eh! corbleu! my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, I should be very glad to sleep."
"Who hinders you?"
"Why, you, in the first place."
"I? Ah, monseigneur!"
"No doubt you do. Is it at Nantes as it was at Paris, do you not come in the king's name?"
"For Heaven's sake, monseigneur," replied the captain, "leave the king alone! The day on which I shall come on the part of the king, for the purpose you mean, take my word for it, I will not leave you long in doubt. You will see me place my hand on my sword, according to the ordonnance, and you will hear me say at once in my ceremonial voice, 'Monseigneur, in the name of the king, I arrest you!'"
"You promise me that frankness?" said the surintendant.
"Upon my honor! But we are not come to that, believe me."
"What makes you think that, M. d'Artagnan? For my part, I think quite the contrary."
"I have heard speak of nothing of the kind," replied D'Artagnan.
"Eh! eh!" said Fouquet.
"Indeed, no. You are an agreeable man, in spite of your fever. The king ought not, cannot help loving you, at the bottom of his heart."
Fouquet's face implied doubt. "But M. Colbert?" said he; "does M. Colbert love me as much as you say?"
"I don't speak of M. Colbert," replied D'Artagnan. "He is an exceptional man, is that M. Colbert. He does not love you; that is very possible; but, mordioux! the squirrel can guard himself against the adder with very little trouble."
"Do you know that you are speaking to me quite as a friend," replied Fouquet; "and that, upon my life! I have never met with a man of your intelligence, and your heart?"
"You are pleased to say so," replied D'Artagnan. "Why did you wait till to-day, to pay me such a compliment?"
"Blind as we are!" murmured Fouquet.
"Your voice is getting hoarse," said D'Artagnan; "drink, monseigneur, drink!" And he offered him a cup of tisane, with the most friendly cordiality; Fouquet took it, and thanked him by a bland smile. "Such things only happen to me," said the musketeer. "I have passed ten years under your very beard, while you were rolling about tons of gold. You were clearing an annual pension offour millions; you never observed me; and you find out there is such a person in the world, just at the moment—"
"I am about to fall," interrupted Fouquet. "That is true, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"I did not say so."
"But you thought so; and that is the same thing. Well! if I fall, take my word as truth, I shall not pass a single day without saying to myself, as I strike my brow, 'Fool! fool!—stupid mortal! You had a Monsieur d'Artagnan under your eye and hand, and you did not employ him, you did not enrich him!'"
"You quite overwhelm me," said the captain. "I esteem you greatly."
"There exists another man, then, who does not think as M. Colbert does," said the surintendant.
"How this M. Colbert slicks in your stomach! He is worse than your fever!"
"Oh! I have good cause," said Fouquet. "Judge for yourself." And he related the details of the course of the lighters, and the hypocritical persecution of Colbert. "Is not this a clear sign of my ruin?"
D'Artagnan became serious. "That is true," said he. "Yes: that has a bad odor, as M. de Treville used to say." And he fixed upon M. Fouquet his intelligent and significant look.
"Am I not clearly designated in that, captain? Is not the king bringing me to Nantes to get me away from Paris, where I have so many creatures, and to possess himself of Belle-Isle?"
"Where M. d'Herblay is," added D'Artagnan. Fouquet raised his head. "As for me, monseigneur," continued D'Artagnan, "I can assure you the king has said nothing to me against you."
"Indeed!"
"The king commanded me to set out for Nantes, it is true; and to say nothing about it to M. de Gesvres."
"My friend."
"To M. de Gesvres, yes, monseigneur," continued the musketeer, whose eyes did not cease to speak a language different from the language of his lips. "The king, moreover, commanded me to take a brigade of musketeers, which is apparently superfluous, as the country is quite quiet."
"A brigade!" said Fouquet, raising himself upon his elbow.
"Ninety-six horsemen, yes, monseigneur. The same number as were employed in arresting MM. de Chalais, de Cinq-Mars, and Montmorency."
Fouquet pricked up his ears at these words, pronounced without apparent value. "And besides?" said he.
"Well! nothing but insignificant orders; such as guarding the castle, guarding every lodging, allowing none of M. de Gesvres's guards to occupy a single post.—M. de Gesvres, your friend."
"And for myself," cried Fouquet, "what orders had you?"
"For you, monseigneur?—not the smallest word."
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, the safety of my honor, and, perhaps, of my life, is at stake. You would not deceive me?"
"I?—and to what end? Are you threatened? Only there really is an order with respect to carriages and boats—"
"'An order?'"
"Yes; but it cannot concern you—a simple measure of police."
"What is it, captain—what is it?"
"To forbid all horses or boats to leave Nantes, without a pass, signed by the king."
"Great God! but—"
D'Artagnan began to laugh. "All that is not to be put into execution before the arrival of the king at Nantes. So that you see plainly, monseigneur, the order in no wise concerns you."
Fouquet became thoughtful, and D'Artagnan feigned not to observe his preoccupation—"It is evident, by my thus confiding to you the orders which have been given to me, that I am friendly toward you, and that I endeavor to prove to you, that none of them are directed against you."
"Without doubt!—without doubt!" said Fouquet, still absent.
"Let us recapitulate," said the captain, his glance beaming with earnestness. "A special and severe guard of the castle, in which your lodging is to be—is it not?"
"Do you know that castle?"
"Ah! monseigneur, a true prison! The total absence of M. de Gesvres, who has the honor of being one of your friends. The closing of the gates of the city, and of the river without a pass; but, only when the king shall have arrived.
"Please to observe, Monsieur Fouquet, that if, instead of speaking to a man like you, who are one of the first in the kingdom, I were speaking to a troubled, uneasy conscience—I should compromise myself forever! What a fine opportunity for any one who wished to be free! No police, no guards, no orders; the water free, the roads free, Monsieur d'Artagnan obliged to lend his horses, if required! All this ought to reassure you, Monsieur Fouquet, for the king would not have left me thus independent, if he had had any evil designs. In truth. Monsieur Fouquet, ask me whatever you like, I am at your service; and in return, if you will consent to it, render me a service, that of offering my compliments to Aramis and Porthos, in case you embark for Belle-Isle, as you have a right to do, without changing your dress, immediately, in yourrobe-de-chambre—just as you are." Saying these words, and with a profound bow, the musketeer, whose looks had lost none of their intelligent kindness, left the apartment. He had not reached the steps of the vestibule, when Fouquet, quite beside himself, hung to the bell-rope, and shouted, "My horses!—my lighter!" But nobody answered! The surintendant dressed himself with everything that came to hand.
"Gourville! Gourville!" cried he, while slipping his watch into his pocket. And the bell sounded again, while Fouquet repeated, "Gourville!—Gourville!"
Gourville at length appeared, breathless and pale.
"Let us be gone! Let us be gone!" cried Fouquet, as soon as he saw him.
"It is too late!" said the surintendant's poor friend.
"Too late—why?"
"Listen!" And they heard the sounds trumpets and drums in front of the castle.
"What does that mean, Gourville?"
"It is the king coming, monseigneur."
"The king!"
"The king, who has ridden double stages, who has killed horses, and who is eight hours in advance of your calculation."
"We are lost?" murmured Fouquet. "Brave D'Artagnan, all is over, thou hast spoken to me too late!"
The king, in fact, was entering the city, which soon resounded with the cannon from the ramparts, and from a vessel which replied from the lower parts of the river. Fouquet's brow darkened; he called his valets-de-chambre, and dressed in ceremonial costume. From his window, behind the curtains, he could see the eagerness of the people, and the movement of a large troop, which had followed the prince, without its being to be guessed how. The king was conducted to the castle with great pomp, and Fouquet saw him dismount under the portcullis, and speak something in the ear of D'Artagnan, who held his stirrup. D'Artagnan, when the king had passed under the arch, directed his steps toward the house Fouquet was in; but so slowly, and stopping so frequently to speak to his musketeers, drawn up as a hedge, that it might be said he was counting the seconds or the steps, before accomplishing his message. Fouquet opened the window to speak to him in the court.
"Ah!" cried D'Artagnan, on perceiving him, "are you still there, monseigneur?"
And that wordstillcompleted the proof to Fouquet of how much information, and how many useful counsels were contained in the first visit the musketeer had paid him. The surintendant sighed deeply. "Good heavens! yes, monsieur," replied he. "The arrival of the king has interrupted me in the projects I had formed."
"Oh! then you know that the king is arrived?"
"Yes, monsieur, I have seen him; and this time you come from him—"
"To inquire after you, monseigneur;and, if your health is not too bad, to beg you to have the kindness to repair to the castle."
"Directly, Monsieur d'Artagnan, directly!"
"Ah!dam!" said the captain, "now the king is come, there is no more walking for anybody—no more free-will; the password governs all now, you as well as me, me as well as you."
Fouquet heaved a last sigh, got into his carriage, so great was his weakness, and went to the castle, escorted by D'Artagnan, whose politeness was not less terrifying this time, than it had but just before been consoling and cheerful.