The princess, preceding Raoul, led him through the courtyard toward that part of the building which La Valliere inhabited, and, ascending the same staircase which Raoul had himself ascended that very morning, she paused at the door of the room in which the young man had been so strangely received by Montalais. The opportunity had been well chosen to carry out the project which Madame Henrietta had conceived, for the chateau was empty. The king, the courtiers, and the ladies of the court had set off for St. Germain; Madame Henrietta was the only one who knew of Bragelonne's return, and, thinking over the advantages which might be drawn from this return, had feigned indisposition in order to remain behind. Madame was therefore confident of finding La Valliere's room and Saint-Aignan's apartment perfectly empty. She took a pass-key from her pocket and opened the door of her maid of honor's apartment. Bragelonne's gaze was immediately fixed upon the interior of the room, which herecognized at once; and the impression which the sight of it produced upon him was one of the first tortures which awaited him. The princess looked at him, and her practiced eye could at once detect what was passing in the young man's heart.
"You asked me for proofs," she said, "do not be astonished, then, if I give you them. But if you do not think you have courage enough to confront them, there is still time to withdraw."
"I thank you, madame," said Bragelonne; "but I came here to be convinced. You promised to convince me—do so."
"Enter, then," said Madame, "and shut the door behind you."
Bragelonne obeyed, and then turned toward the princess, whom he interrogated by a look.
"You know where you are, I suppose?" inquired Madame Henrietta.
"Everything leads me to believe I am in Mademoiselle de la Valliere's room."
"You are."
"But I would observe to your highness that this room is a room, and is not a proof."
"Wait," said the princess, as she walked to the foot of the bed, folded up the screen into its several compartments, and stooped down toward the floor. "Look here," she continued; "stoop down, and lift up this trap-door yourself."
"A trap-door!" said Raoul, astonished; for D'Artagnan's words began to return to his memory, and he had an indistinct recollection that D'Artagnan had made use of the same word. He looked, but uselessly so, for some cleft or crevice which might indicate an opening, or a ring to assist in lifting up some portion of the planking.
"Ah, I forgot," said Madame Henrietta, "I forgot the secret spring; the fourth plank of the flooring—press on the spot where you will observe a knot in the wood. Those are the instructions; press, vicomte! press, I say, yourself!"
Raoul, pale as death, pressed his finger on the spot which had been indicated to him: at the same moment the spring began to work, and the trap rose of its own accord.
"It is ingenious enough, certainly," said the princess; "and one can see that the architect foresaw that a very little hand only would have to make use of this spring, for see how easily the trap-door opened without assistance."
"A staircase!" cried Raoul.
"Yes; and a very pretty one, too," said Madame Henrietta. "See, vicomte, the staircase has a balustrade, intended to prevent the falling of timid persons, who might be tempted to descend the staircase; and I will risk myself on it accordingly. Come, vicomte, follow me!"
"But before following you, madame, may I ask where this staircase leads to?"
"Ah, true; I forgot to tell you. You know, perhaps, that formerly M. de Saint-Aignan lived in the very next apartment to the king?"
"Yes, madame, I am aware of that; that was the arrangement, at least, before I left; and more than once I have had the honor of visiting him in his old rooms."
"Well; he obtained the king's leave to change his former convenient and beautiful apartment for the two rooms to which this staircase will conduct us, and which together form a lodging for him, twice as small, and at ten times greater distance from the king—a close proximity to whom is by no means disdained, in general, by the gentlemen belonging to the court."
"Very good, madame," returned Raoul; "but go on, I beg, for I do not understand yet."
"Well, then, it accidentally happened," continued the princess, "that M. de Saint-Aignan's apartment is situated underneath the apartments of my maids of honor, and particularly underneath the room of La Valliere."
"But what was the motive of this trap-door and this staircase?"
"That I cannot tell you. Would you like us to go down to Monsieur de Saint-Aignan's rooms? Perhaps we shall be able to find the solution of the enigma there."
And Madame set the example by going down herself, while Raoul, sighing deeply, followed her. At every step Bragelonne took, he advanced further into that mysterious apartment which had been witness to La Valliere's sighs, and still retained the sweetest perfume of her presence. Bragelonne fancied that he perceived, as he inhaled his every breath, that the young girl must have passed through there. Then succeeded to these emanations of herself, which he regarded as invisible through certain proofs, the flowers she preferred to all others—the books of her own selection. Had Raoul preserved a single doubt on the subject, it would have vanished at the secret harmony of tastes, and connection of the mind with the use of the ordinary objects of life. La Valliere, in Bragelonne's eyes, was present there in every article of furniture, in the color of the hangings, in everything that surrounded him. Dumb, and completely overwhelmed, there was nothing further for him now to learn, and he followed his pitiless conductress as blindly as the culprit follows the executioner; while Madame, as cruel as all women of delicate and nervous temperaments are, did not spare him the slightest detail. But it must be admitted, that, notwithstanding the kind of apathy into which he had fallen, none of these details, even had he been left alone, would have escaped him. The happiness of the woman who loves, when that happiness is derived from a rival, is a living torture for a jealous man; but for a jealous man such as Raoul was, for one whose heart had for the first time been steeped in gall and bitterness, Louise's happiness was in reality an ignominious death, a death of body and soul.
He guessed all; he fancied he could see them, with their hands clasped in each other's, their faces drawn close together, and reflected, side by side, in loving proximity, as they gazed upon the mirrors around them—so sweet an occupation for lovers, who, as they thus see themselves twice over, impress the picture more enduringly in their memories. He could guess, too, the stolen kiss snatched as they separated from each other's loved society. The luxury, the studied elegance, eloquent of the perfection of indolence, of ease; the extreme care shown, either to spare the loved object every annoyance, or to occasion her a delightful surprise; that strength and power of love multiplied by the strength and power of royalty itself, seemed like a death-blow to Raoul. If there be anything which can in any way assuage or mitigate the tortures of jealousy, it is the inferiority of the man who is preferred to yourself; while, on the very contrary, if there be an anguish more bitter than another, a misery for which language has no descriptive words, it is the superiority of the man preferred to yourself, superior, perhaps, in youth, beauty, grace. It is in such moments as these that Heaven almost seems to have taken part against the disdained and rejected lover.
One final pang was reserved for poor Raoul. Madame Henrietta lifted up a silk curtain, and behind the canvas he perceived La Valliere's portrait. Not only the portrait of La Valliere, but of La Valliere eloquent of youth, beauty, and happiness, inhaling life and enjoyment at every pore, because at eighteen years of age love itself is life.
"Louise!" murmured Bragelonne—"Louise! is it true, then? Oh, you have never loved me, for never have you looked at me in that manner." And he felt as if his heart were crushed within his bosom.
Madame Henrietta looked at him, almost envious of his extreme grief, although she well knew there was nothing to envy in it, and that she herself was as passionately loved by De Guiche as Louise by Bragelonne. Raoul interpreted Madame Henrietta's look.
"Oh, forgive me, forgive me, madame; in your presence I know I ought to have greater mastery over myself. But Heaven grant that you may never be struck by a similar misery to that which crushes me at this moment, for you are but a woman, and would not be able to endure so terrible an affliction. Forgive me, I again entreat you, madame; I am but a man without rank or position, while you belong to arace whose happiness knows no bounds, whose power acknowledges no limit."
"Monsieur de Bragelonne," replied Henrietta, "a heart such as yours merits all the consideration and respect which a queen's heart even can bestow. Regard me as your friend, monsieur; and as such, indeed, I would not allow your whole life to be poisoned by perfidy and covered with ridicule. It was I, indeed, who, with more courage than any of your pretended friends—I except M. de Guiche—was the cause of your return from London; it is I, also, who have given you these melancholy proofs, necessary, however, for your cure, if you are a lover with courage in his heart, and not a weeping Amadis. Do not thank me; pity me even, and do not serve the king less faithfully than you have done."
Raoul smiled bitterly. "Ah; true, true; I was forgetting that! the king is my master."
"Your liberty, nay, your very life is in danger."
A steady, penetrating look informed Madame Henrietta that she was mistaken, and that her last argument was not a likely one to affect the young man. "Take care, Monsieur de Bragelonne," she said, "for if you do not weigh well all your actions, you might throw into an extravagance of wrath, a prince, whose passions, once aroused, exceed the utmost limits of reason, and you would thereby involve your friends and family in the deepest distress; you must bend, you must submit, and must cure yourself."
"I thank you, madame; I appreciate the advice your royal highness is good enough to give me, and I will endeavor to follow it; but one final word, I beg."
"Name it."
"Should I be indiscreet in asking you the secret of this staircase, of this trap-door; a secret which, it seems, you have discovered."
"Nothing is more simple. For the purpose of exercising a surveillance over the young girls who are attached to my service, I have duplicate keys of their doors. It seemed very strange to me that M. deSaint-Aignan should change his apartments. It seemed very strange, that the king should come to see M. de Saint-Aignan every day, and, finally, it seemed very strange, that so many things should be done during your absence, that the very habits and customs of the court seemed to be changed. I do not wish to be trifled with by the king, nor to serve as a cloak for his love affairs; for, after La Valliere, who weeps incessantly, he will take a fancy to Montalais, who is always laughing; and then to Tonnay-Charente, who does nothing but sing all day; to act such a part as that would be unworthy of me. I have thrust aside the scruples which my friendship for you suggested. I have discovered the secret. I have wounded your feelings, I know; and I again entreat you to excuse me; but I had a duty to fulfill. I have discharged it. You are now forewarned; the tempest will soon burst; protect yourself accordingly."
"You naturally expect, however, that a result of some kind must follow," replied Bragelonne, with firmness; "for you do not suppose I shall silently accept the shame which is thrust upon me, or the treachery which has been practiced against me."
"You will take whatever steps in the matter you please, Monsieur Raoul, only do not betray the source whence you derived the truth. That is all I have to ask, that is the only price I require for the service I have rendered you."
"Fear nothing, madame," said Bragelonne, with a bitter smile.
"I bribed the locksmith, in whom the lovers had confided. You can just as well have done so as myself, can you not?"
"Yes, madame. Your royal highness, however, has no other advice or caution to give me, except that of not betraying you."
"None other."
"I am about, therefore, to beg your royal highness to allow me to remain here for one moment."
"Without me?"
"Oh! no, madame. It matters very little; for what I have to do can be done in your presence. I only ask one moment to write a line to some one."
"It is dangerous, Monsieur de Bragelonne. Take care."
"No one can possibly know that your royal highness has done me the honor to conduct me here. Besides, I shall sign the letter I am going to write."
"Do as you please, then."
Raoul drew out his tablet, and wrote rapidly on one of the leaves the following words:
"Monsieur le Comte—Do not be surprised to find here this paper signed by me; the friend whom I shall very shortly send to call on you will have the honor to explain the object of my visit to you."Vicomte Raoul de Bragelonne."
"Monsieur le Comte—Do not be surprised to find here this paper signed by me; the friend whom I shall very shortly send to call on you will have the honor to explain the object of my visit to you.
"Vicomte Raoul de Bragelonne."
He rolled up the paper, slipped it into the lock of the door which communicated with the room set apart for the two lovers, and satisfied himself that the paper was so apparent that Saint-Aignan could not but see it as he entered; he rejoined the princess, who had already reached the top of the staircase. They then separated. Raoul pretending to thank her highness; Henrietta pitying, or seeming to pity, with all her heart, the poor, wretched young man she had just condemned to such fearful torture. "Oh!" she said, as she saw him disappear, pale as death, and his eyes injected with blood, "if I had known this, I should have concealed the truth from that poor gentleman."
The numerous individuals we have introduced into this long story is the cause of each of them being obliged to appear only in his own turn, and according to the exigencies of the recital. The result is, that our readers have had no opportunity of again meeting our friend Porthos since his return from Fontainebleau. The honors which he had received from the king had not changed the easy, affectionate character of that excellent-hearted man; he may, perhaps, have held up his head a little higher than usual, and a majesty of demeanor, as it were, may have betrayed itself since the honor of dining at the king's table had been accorded him. His majesty's banqueting-room had produced a certain effect upon Porthos. Le Seigneur de Bracieux et de Pierrefonds delighted to remember that, during that memorable dinner, the numerous array of servants, and the large number of officials, who were in attendance upon the guests, gave a certain tone and effect to the repast, and seemed to furnish the room. Porthos undertook to confer upon Mouston a position of some kind or other, in order to establish a sort of hierarchy among his other domestics, and to create a military household, which was not unusual among the great captains of the age, since, in the preceding century, this luxury had been greatly encouraged by Messieurs de Treville, de Schomberg, de la Vieuville, without alluding to M. de Richelieu, M. de Conde, and De Bouillon-Turenne! And, therefore, why should not he, Porthos, the friend of the king, and of M. Fouquet, a baron, an engineer, etc., why should not he, indeed, enjoy all the delightful privileges which large possessions and unusual merit invariably confer? Slightly neglected by Aramis, who, we know, was greatly occupied with M. Fouquet; neglected, also, on account of his being on duty, by D'Artagnan; tired of Trüchen and Planchet, Porthos was surprised to find himself dreaming, without precisely knowing why; but if any one had said to him, "Do you want anything, Porthos?" he would, most certainly, have replied, "Yes." After one of those dinners, during which Porthos attempted to recall to his recollection all the details of the royal banquet, half joyful, thanks to the excellence of the wines; half melancholy, thanks to his ambitious ideas, Porthos was gradually falling off into a gentle doze, when his servant entered to announce that M. de Bragelonne wished to speak to him. Porthos passed into anadjoining room, where he found his young friend in the disposition of mind we are already aware of. Raoul advanced toward Porthos, and shook him by the hand; Porthos, surprised at his seriousness of aspect, offered him a seat. "Dear M. de Valon," said Raoul, "I have a service to ask of you."
"Nothing could happen more fortunately, my young friend," replied Porthos; "I have had eight thousand livres sent me this morning from Pierrefonds; and if you want any money—"
"No, I thank you; it is not money."
"So much the worse, then. I have always heard it said that that is the rarest service, but the easiest to render. The remark struck me; I like to cite remarks that strike me."
"Your heart is as good as your mind is sound and true."
"You are too kind, I'm sure. You will dine here, of course?"
"No; I am not hungry."
"Eh! not dine! What a dreadful country England is."
"Not too much so, indeed—but—"
"Well. If such excellent fish and meat were not to be procured there, it would hardly be endurable."
"Yes; I came to—"
"I am listening. Only just allow me to take something to drink. One gets thirsty in Paris:" and he ordered a bottle of champagne to be brought; and, having first filled Raoul's glass, he filled his own, drank it down at a gulp, and then resumed; "I needed that, in order to listen to you with proper attention. I am now quite at your service. What have you to ask me, dear Raoul? What do you want?"
"Give me your opinion upon quarrels in general, my dear friend."
"My opinion! Well—but—— Explain your idea a little," replied Porthos, rubbing his forehead.
"I mean—you are generally good-humored, or good-tempered, whenever any misunderstanding may arise between a friend of yours and a stranger, for instance?"
"Oh! in the best of tempers."
"Very good; but what do you do in such a case?"
"Whenever any friend of mine has a quarrel, I always act upon one principle."
"What is that?"
"That all lost time is irreparable, and that one never arranges an affair so well as when everything has been done to embroil the dispute as much as possible."
"Ah! indeed, that is the principle on which you proceed."
"Thoroughly; so as soon as a quarrel takes place, I bring the two parties together."
"Exactly."
"You understand that by this means it is impossible for an affair not to be arranged."
"I should have thought that, treated in this manner, an affair would, on the contrary—"
"Oh! not the least in the world. Just fancy now, I have had in my life something like a hundred and eighty to a hundred and ninety regular duels, without reckoning hasty encounters or chance meetings."
"It is a very handsome number," said Raoul, unable to resist a smile.
"A mere nothing; but I am so gentle. D'Artagnan reckons his duels by hundreds. It is very true he is a little too hard and sharp—I have often told him so."
"And so," resumed Raoul, "you generally arrange the affairs of honor your friends confide to you."
"There is not a single instance in which I have not finished by arranging every one of them," said Porthos, with a gentleness and confidence which surprised Raoul.
"But the way in which you settle them is at least honorable, I suppose?"
"Oh! rely upon that; and at this stage, I will explain my other principle to you. As soon as my friend has confided his quarrel to me, this is what I do: I go to his adversary at once, armed with a politeness and self-possession which are absolutely requisite under such circumstances."
"That is the way, then," said Raoul, bitterly, "that you arrange the affairs so safely."
"I believe you. I go to the adversary, then, and say to him: 'It is impossible, monsieur, that you are ignorant of the extent to which you have insulted my friend.'" Raoul frowned at this remark.
"It sometimes happens—very often, indeed," pursued Porthos—"that my friend has not been insulted at all; he has even been the first to give offense; you can imagine, therefore, whether my language is not well chosen." And Porthos burst into a peal of laughter.
"Decidedly," said Raoul to himself, while the formidable thunder of Porthos' laughter was ringing in his ears, "I am very unfortunate. De Guiche treats me with coldness, D'Artagnan with ridicule, Porthos is too tame; no one will settle this affair in my way. And I came to Porthos because I wished to find a sword instead of cold reasoning at my service. How my ill-luck follows me."
Porthos, who had recovered himself, continued: "By a simple expression, I leave my adversary without an excuse."
"That is as it may happen," said Raoul, distractedly.
"Not at all, it is quite certain. I have not left him an excuse; and then it is that I display all my courtesy, in order to attain the happy issue of my project. I advance, therefore, with an air of great politeness, and, taking my adversary by the hand, I say to him: 'Now that you are convinced of having given the offense, we are sure of reparation; between my friend and yourself, the future can only offer an exchange of mutual courtesies of conduct, and, consequently, my mission is to give you the length of my friend's sword.'"
"What!" said Raoul.
"Wait a minute. 'The length of my friend's sword. My horse is waiting below; my friend is in such and such a spot, and is impatiently awaiting your agreeable society; I will take you with me; we can call upon your second as we go along;' and the affair is arranged."
"And so," said Raoul, pale with vexation, "you reconcile the two adversaries on the ground."
"I beg your pardon," interrupted Porthos. "Reconcile! What for?"
"You said that the affair was arranged."
"Of course! since my friend is waiting for him."
"Well! what then? If he is waiting—"
"Well! if he is waiting, it is merely to stretch his legs a little. The adversary, on the contrary, is stiff from riding; they place themselves in proper order, and my friend kills his opponent, and the affair is ended."
"Ah! he kills him, then?" cried Raoul.
"I should think so," said Porthos. "Is it likely I should ever have as a friend a man who allows himself to get killed? I have a hundred and one friends: at the head of the list stand your father, Aramis, and D'Artagnan, all of whom are living and well, I believe."
"Oh! my dear baron," exclaimed Raoul, delightedly, as he embraced Porthos.
"You approve of my method, then?" said the giant.
"I approve of it so thoroughly, that I shall have recourse to it this very day, without a moment's delay—at once, in fact. You are the very man I have been looking for."
"Good; here I am, then; you want to fight, I suppose?"
"Absolutely so."
"It is very natural. With whom?"
"With M. de Saint-Aignan."
"I know him—a most agreeable man, who was exceedingly polite to me the day I had the honor of dining with the king. I shall certainly acknowledge his politeness in return, even if it had not happened to be my usual custom. So, he has given you offense?"
"A mortal offense."
"The deuce! I can say so, I suppose?"
"More than that, even, if you like."
"That is a very great convenience."
"I may look upon it as one of your arranged affairs, may I not?" said Raoul, smiling.
"As a matter of course. Where will you be waiting for him?"
"Ah! I forgot; it is a very delicate matter. M. de Saint-Aignan is a very great friend of the king's."
"So I have heard it said."
"So that if I kill him—"
"Oh! you will kill him, certainly; you must take every precaution to do so. But there is no difficulty in these matters now; if you had lived in our early days, oh! that was something like!"
"My dear friend, you have not quite understood me. I mean, that, M. de Saint-Aignan being a friend of the king, the affair will be more difficult to manage, since the king might learn beforehand—"
"Oh! no; that is not likely. You know my method: 'Monsieur, you have injured my friend, and—'"
"Yes, I know it."
"And then: 'Monsieur, I have horses below,' I carry him off before he can have spoken to any one."
"Will he allow himself to be carried off like that?"
"I should think so! I should like to see it fail. It would be the first time, if it did. It is true, though, that the young men of the present day—Bah! I would carry him off bodily, if that were all," and Porthos, adding gesture to speech, lifted Raoul and the chair he was sitting on off the ground, and carried them round the room.
"Very good," said Raoul, laughing. "All we have to do is to state the grounds of the quarrel to M. de Saint-Aignan."
"Well, but that is done, it seems."
"No, my dear M. de Valon, the usage of the present day requires that the cause of the quarrel should be explained."
"Very good. Tell me what it is, then."
"The fact is—"
"Deuce take it! see how troublesome this is. In former days, we never had any occasion to say anything about the matter. People fought then for the sake of fighting; and I, for one, know no better reason than that."
"You are quite right, M. de Valon."
"However, tell me what the cause is."
"It is too long a story to tell; only asone must particularize to some extent, and as, on the other hand, the affair is full of difficulties, and requires the most absolute secrecy, you will have the kindness merely to tell M. de Saint-Aignan that he has, in the first place, insulted me by changing his lodgings."
"By changing his lodgings? Good," said Porthos, who began to count on his fingers—"next?"
"Then in getting a trap-door made in his new apartments."
"I understand," said Porthos; "a trap-door; upon my word this is very serious; you ought to be furious at that. What the deuce does the fellow mean by getting trap-doors made without first consulting you? Trap-doors! mordioux! I haven't got any, except in my dungeons at Bracieux."
"And you will add," said Raoul, "that my last motive for considering myself insulted is, the portrait that M. de Saint-Aignan well knows."
"Is it possible? A portrait, too! A change of residence, a trap-door, and a portrait! Why, my dear friend, with but one of those causes of complaint there is enough, and more than enough, for all the gentlemen in France and Spain to cut each other's throats, and that is saying but very little."
"Well, my dear friend, you are furnished with all you need, I suppose?"
"I shall take a second horse with me. Select your own rendezvous, and while you are waiting there you can practice some of the best passes, so as to get your limbs as elastic as possible."
"Thank you. I shall be waiting for you in the wood of Vincennes, close to Minimes."
"All's right, then. Where am I to find this M. de Saint-Aignan?"
"At the Palais Royal."
Porthos rang a huge handbell. "My court suit," he said to the servant who answered the summons, "my horse, and a led horse to accompany me." Then, turning to Raoul as soon as the servant had quitted the room, he said, "Does your father know anything about this?"
"No; I am going to write to him."
"And D'Artagnan?"
"No, nor D'Artagnan, either. He is very cautious, you know, and might have diverted me from my purpose."
"D'Artagnan is a sound adviser, though," said Porthos, astonished that, in his own loyal faith in D'Artagnan, anyone could have thought of himself, so long as there was a D'Artagnan in the world.
"Dear M. de Valon," replied Raoul, "do not question me any more, I implore you. I have told you all that I had to say; it is prompt action that I now expect, as sharp and decided as you know how to arrange it. That, indeed, is my reason for having chosen you."
"You will be satisfied with me," replied Porthos.
"Do not forget, either, that except ourselves, no one must know anything of this meeting."
"People always find these things out," said Porthos, "when a dead body is discovered in a wood. But I promise you everything, my dear friend, except concealing the dead body. There it is, and it must be seen, as a matter of course. It is a principle of mine not to bury bodies. That has a smack of the assassin about it. Every risk must run its own risk."
"To work, then, my dear friend."
"Rely upon me," said the giant, finishing the bottle, while the servant spread out upon a sofa the gorgeously-decorated dress trimmed with lace. Raoul left the room, saying to himself, with a secret delight, "Perfidious king! traitorous monarch! I cannot reach thee. I do not wish it; for kings are sacred objects. But your friend, your accomplice, your panderer—the coward who represents you—shall pay for your crime. I will kill him in thy name, and afterward we will think of Louise."
Porthos, intrusted, to his great delight, with this mission, which made him feel young again, took half an hour less than his usual time to put on his court suit. To show that he was a man acquainted with the usages of the highest society, he had begun by sending his lackey to inquire if Monsieur de Saint-Aignan were at home, and received, in answer, that M. le Comte de Saint-Aignan had had the honor of accompanying the king to Saint-Germain, as well as the whole court; but that Monsieur le Comte had just that moment returned. Immediately upon this reply, Porthos made as much haste as possible, and reached Saint-Aignan's apartments just as the latter was having his boots taken off. The promenade had been delightful. The king, who was in love more than ever, and of course happier than ever, behaved in the most charming manner to every one. Nothing could possibly equal his kindness. M. de Saint-Aignan, it may be remembered, was a poet, and fancied that he had proved that he was so, under too many a memorable circumstance, to allow the title to be disputed by any one. An indefatigable rhymester, he had, during the whole of the journey, overwhelmed with quatrains, sextains, and madrigals, first the king, and then La Valliere. The king was, on his side, in a similarly poetical mood, and had made a distich; while La Valliere, like all women who are in love, had composed two sonnets. As one may see, then, the day had not been a bad one for Apollo; and, therefore, as soon as he had returned to Paris, Saint-Aignan, who knew beforehand that his verses would be sure to be extensively circulated in court circles, occupied himself, with a little more attention than he had been able to bestow during the promenade, with the composition, as well as with the idea itself. Consequently, with all the tenderness of a father about to start his children in life, he candidly interrogated himself whether the public would find these offspring of his imagination sufficiently elegant and graceful; and so, in order to make his mind easy on the subject, M. de Saint-Aignan recited to himself the madrigal he had composed, and which he had repeated from memory to the king, and which he had promised to write out for him on his return. All the time he was committing these words to memory, the comte was engaged in undressing himself more completely. He had just taken off his coat, and was putting on his dressing-gown, when he was informed that Monsieur le Baron de Valon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds was waiting to be received.
"Eh!" he said, "what does that bunch of names mean? I don't know anything about him."
"It is the same gentleman," replied the lackey, "who had the honor of dining with you, monseigneur, at the king's table, when his majesty was staying at Fontainebleau."
"Introduce him, then, at once," cried Saint-Aignan.
Porthos in a few minutes entered the room. M. de Saint-Aignan had an excellent recollection of persons, and at the first glance he recognized the gentleman from the country, who enjoyed so singular a reputation, and whom the king had received so favorably at Fontainebleau, in spite of the smiles of some of those who were present. He therefore advanced toward Porthos with all the outward signs of a consideration of manner which Porthos thought but natural, considering that he himself, whenever he called upon an adversary, hoisted the standard of the most refined politeness. Saint-Aignan desired the servant to give Porthos a chair; and the latter, who saw nothing unusual in this act of politeness, sat down gravely, and coughed. The ordinary courtesies having been exchanged between the two gentlemen, the comte, to whom the visit was paid, said, "May I ask, Monsieur le Baron, to what happy circumstance I am indebted for the favor of a visit from you?"
"The very thing I am about to have the honor of explaining to you, Monsieur le Comte; but, I beg your pardon—"
"What is the matter, monsieur?" inquired Saint-Aignan.
"I regret to say that I have broken your chair."
"Not at all, monsieur," said Saint-Aignan: "not at all."
"It is the fact, though, Monsieur le Comte; I have broken it—so much so, indeed, that, if I do not move, I shall fall down, which would be an exceedingly disagreeable position for me in the discharge of the very serious mission which has been intrusted to me with regard to yourself."
Porthos rose, and but just in time, for the chair had given way several inches. Saint-Aignan looked about him for something more solid for his guest to sit upon. "Modern articles of furniture," said Porthos, while the comte was looking about, "are constructed in a ridiculously light manner. In my early days, when I used to sit down with far more energy than is now the case, I do not remember ever to have broken a chair, except in taverns, with my arms."
Saint-Aignan smiled at this remark. "But," said Porthos, as he settled himself down on a couch, which creaked, but did not give way beneath his weight, "that, unfortunately, has nothing whatever to do with my present visit."
"Why unfortunately? Are you the bearer of a message of ill omen, Monsieur le Baron?"
"Of ill omen—for a gentleman? Certainly not, Monsieur le Comte," replied Porthos, nobly. "I have simply come to say that you have seriously insulted a friend of mine."
"I, monsieur?" exclaimed Saint-Aignan—"I have insulted a friend of yours, do you say? May I ask his name?"
"M. Raoul de Bragelonne."
"I have insulted M. Raoul de Bragelonne!" cried Saint-Aignan. "I really assure you, monsieur, that it is quite impossible; for M. de Bragelonne, whom I know but very slightly—nay, whom I know hardly at all—is in England; and, as I have not seen him for a long time past, I cannot possibly have insulted him."
"M. de Bragelonne is in Paris, Monsieur le Comte," said Porthos, perfectly unmoved; "and I repeat, it is quite certain you have insulted him, since he himself told me you had. Yes, monsieur, you have seriously insulted him, mortally insulted him, I repeat."
"It is impossible. Monsieur le Baron, I swear, quite impossible."
"Besides," added Porthos, "you cannot be ignorant of the circumstance since M. de Bragelonne informed me that he had already apprised you of it by a note."
"I give you my word of honor, monsieur, that I have received no note whatever."
"This is most extraordinary," replied Porthos.
"I will convince you," said Saint-Aignan, "that I have received nothing in any way from him." And he rang the bell. "Basque," he said to the servant who entered, "how many letters or notes were sent here during my absence?"
"Three, Monsieur le Comte—a note from M. de Fiesque, one from Madame de Laferte, and a letter from M. de las Fuentes."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, Monsieur le Comte."
"Speak the truth before this gentleman—the truth, you understand. I will take care you are not blamed."
"There was a note, also, from—from—"
"Well, from whom?"
"From Mademoiselle de Laval—"
"That is quite sufficient," interrupted Porthos. "I believe you, Monsieur le Comte."
Saint-Aignan dismissed the valet, and followed him to the door, in order to close it after him; and when he had done so, looking straight before him, he happened to see in the keyhole of the adjoining apartment the paper which Bragelonne had slipped in there as he left. "What is this?" he said.
Porthos, who was sitting with his back to the room, turned round, "Oh, oh!" he said.
"A note in the keyhole!" exclaimed Saint-Aignan.
"That is not unlikely to be the one we want, Monsieur le Comte," said Porthos.
Saint-Aignan took out the paper. "A note from M. de Bragelonne!" he exclaimed.
"You see, monsieur, I was right. Oh, when I say a thing—"
"Brought here by M. de Bragelonne himself," the comte murmured, turning pale. "This is infamous! How could he possibly have come here?"
And the comte rang again.
"Who has been here during my absence with the king?"
"No one, monsieur."
"That is impossible. Some one must have been here."
"No one could possibly have entered, monsieur; since I kept the keys in my own pocket."
"And yet I find this letter in that lock yonder; some one must have put it there; it could not have come alone."
Basque opened his arms as if signifying the most absolute ignorance on the subject.
"Probably it was M. de Bragelonne himself who placed it there," said Porthos.
"In that case he must have entered here."
"How could that have been, since I have the key in my own pocket?" returned Basque, perseveringly.
Saint-Aignan crumpled up the letter in his hand, after having read it.
"There is something mysterious about this," he murmured, absorbed in thought.
Porthos left him to his reflections; but after a while returned to the mission he had undertaken.
"Shall we return to our little affair?" he said, addressing Saint-Aignan, as soon as the lackey had disappeared.
"I think I can now understand it, from this note, which has arrived here in so singular a manner. Monsieur de Bragelonne says that a friend will call."
"I am his friend, and am the one he alludes to."
"For the purpose of giving me a challenge?"
"Precisely."
"And he complains that I have insulted him?"
"Mortally so."
"In what way, may I ask; for his conduct is so mysterious, that it, at least, needs some explanation?"
"Monsieur," replied Porthos, "my friend cannot but be right; and, as far ashis conduct is concerned, if it be mysterious, as you say, you have only yourself to blame for it." Porthos pronounced these words with an amount of confidence which, for a man who was unaccustomed to his ways, must have revealed an infinity of sense.
"Mystery, be it so; but what is the mystery about?" said Saint-Aignan.
"You will think it best, perhaps," Porthos replied, with a low bow, "that I do not enter into particulars."
"Oh, I perfectly understand. We will touch very lightly upon it, then; so speak, monsieur, I am listening."
"In the first place, monsieur," said Porthos, "you have changed your apartments."
"Yes, that is quite true," said Saint-Aignan.
"You admit it," said Porthos, with an air of satisfaction.
"Admit it! of course I admit it. Why should I not admit it, do you suppose?"
"You have admitted it. Very good," said Porthos, lifting up one finger.
"But how can my having moved my lodgings have done M. de Bragelonne any harm? Have the goodness to tell me that, for I positively do not comprehend a word of what you are saying."
Porthos stopped him, and then said with great gravity, "Monsieur, this is the first of M. de Bragelonne's complaints against you. If he makes a complaint, it is because he feels himself insulted."
Saint-Aignan began to beat his foot impatiently on the ground. "This looks like a bad quarrel," he said.
"No one can possibly have a bad quarrel with the Vicomte de Bragelonne," returned Porthos; "but, at all events, you have nothing to add on the subject of your changing your apartments, I suppose?"
"Nothing. And what is the next point?"
"Ah, the next! You will observe, monsieur, that the one I have already mentioned is a most serious injury, to which you have given no answer, or rather, have answered very indifferently. Is it possible, monsieur, that you havechanged your lodgings? M. de Bragelonne feels insulted at your having done so, and you do not attempt to excuse yourself."
"What!" cried Saint-Aignan, who was getting annoyed at the perfect coolness of his visitor—"what! am I to consult M. de Bragelonne whether I am to move or not? You can hardly be serious, monsieur."
"Absolutely necessary, monsieur; but, under any circumstances, you will admit that it is nothing in comparison with the second ground of complaint."
"Well, what is that?"
Porthos assumed a very serious expression as he said: "How about the trap-door, monsieur?"
Saint-Aignan turned exceedingly pale. He pushed back his chair so abruptly, that Porthos, simple as he was, perceived that the blow had told. "The trap-door," murmured Saint-Aignan.
"Yes, monsieur, explain that if you can," said Porthos, shaking his head.
Saint-Aignan held down his head as he murmured: "I have been betrayed, everything is known!"
"Everything," replied Porthos, who knew nothing.
"You see me perfectly overwhelmed," pursued Saint-Aignan, "overwhelmed to a degree that I hardly know what I am about."
"A guilty conscience, monsieur. Your affair is a bad one, and when the public shall learn all about it, and will judge—"
"Oh, monsieur!" exclaimed the comte, hurriedly, "such a secret ought not to be known, even by one's confessor."
"That we will think about," said Porthos; "the secret will not go far, in fact."
"Surely, monsieur," returned Saint-Aignan, "since M. de Bragelonne has penetrated the secret, he must be aware of the danger he as well as others run the risk of incurring."
"M. de Bragelonne runs no danger, monsieur, nor does he fear any either, as you, if it please Heaven, will find out very soon."
"This fellow is a perfect madman," thought Saint-Aignan. "What in Heaven's name does he want?" He then said aloud: "Come, monsieur, let us hush up this affair."
"You forget the portrait," said Porthos, in a voice of thunder, which made the comte's blood freeze in his veins.
As the portrait in question was La Valliere's portrait, and as no mistake could any longer exist on the subject, Saint-Aignan's eyes were completely opened. "Ah;" he exclaimed—"ah! monsieur, I remember now that M. de Bragelonne was engaged to be married to her."
Porthos assumed an imposing air, all the majesty of ignorance, in fact, as he said: "It matters nothing whatever to me, nor to yourself, indeed, whether or not my friend was, as you say, engaged to be married. I am even astonished that you should have made use of so indiscreet a remark. It may possibly do your cause harm, monsieur."
"Monsieur," replied Saint-Aignan, "you are the incarnation of intelligence, delicacy, and loyalty of feeling united. I see the whole matter now clearly enough."
"So much the better," said Porthos.
"And," pursued Saint-Aignan, "you have made me comprehend it in the most ingenious and the most delicate manner possible. I beg you to accept my best thanks."
Porthos drew himself up, unable to resist the flattery of the remark.
"Only, now that I know everything, permit me to explain—"
Porthos shook his head as a man who does not wish to hear, but Saint-Aignan continued: "I am in despair, I assure you, at all that has happened; but how would you have acted in my place? Come, between ourselves, tell me what would you have done?"
Porthos drew himself up as he answered: "There is no question at all of what I should have done, young man; you have now been made acquainted with the three causes of complaint against you, I believe?"
"As for the first, my change of rooms, and I now address myself to you, as a man of honor and of great intelligence, could I, when the desire of so august a personage was so urgently expressed that I should move, ought I to have disobeyed?"
Porthos was about to speak, but Saint-Aignan did not give him time to answer. "Ah! my frankness, I see, convinces you," he said, interpreting the movement according to his own fancy. "You feel that I am right."
Porthos did not reply, and so Saint-Aignan continued: "I pass by that unfortunate trap-door," he said, placing his hand on Porthos' arm, "that trap-door, the occasion and the means of so much unhappiness, and which was constructed for—you know what. Well then, in plain truth, do you suppose that it was I who, of my own accord, in such a place, too, had that trap-door made?—Oh, no! you do not believe it; and here, again, you feel, you guess, you understand the influence of a will superior to my own. You can conceive the infatuation, the blind irresistible passion, which has been at work. But, thank Heaven! I am fortunate enough in speaking to a man who has so much sensitiveness of feeling; if it were not so, indeed, what an amount of misery and scandal would fall upon her, poor girl! and upon him—whom I will not name."
Porthos, confused and bewildered by the eloquence and gestures of Saint-Aignan, made a thousand efforts to stem this torrent of words, of which, by-the-by, he did not understand a single one; he remained upright and motionless on his seat, and that was all he could do. Saint-Aignan continued, and gave a new inflection to his voice, and an increasing vehemence to his gesture: "As for the portrait, for I readily believe the portrait is the principal cause of complaint, tell me candidly if you think me to blame?—Who was it who wished to have her portrait? Was it I?—Who is in love with her? Is it I?—Who wishes to gain her affection? Again, is it I?—Who took her likeness? I, do you think? No! a thousand times no! I know M. de Bragelonne must be in a state of despair; I know these misfortunes are most cruel. But I, too, am suffering as well; and yetthere is no possibility of offering any resistance. Suppose we were to struggle? we would be laughed at. If he obstinately persists in his course, he is lost. You will tell me, I know, that despair is ridiculous, but then you are a sensible man. You have understood me. I perceive by your serious, thoughtful, embarrassed air, even, that the importance of the situation we are placed in has not escaped you. Return, therefore, to M. de Bragelonne; thank him—as I have indeed reason to thank him—for having chosen as an intermediary a man of your high merit. Believe me that I shall, on my side, preserve an eternal gratitude for the man who has so ingeniously, so cleverly arranged the misunderstanding between us. And since ill-luck would have it that the secret should be known to four instead of to three, why, this secret, which might make the most ambitious man's fortune, I am delighted to share with you, monsieur; from the bottom of my heart I am delighted at it. From this very moment you can make use of me as you please; I place myself entirely at your mercy. What can I possibly do for you? What can I solicit, nay, require even? You have only to speak, monsieur, only to speak."
And, according to the familiarly friendly fashion of that period, Saint-Aignan threw his arms round Porthos and clasped him tenderly in his embrace. Porthos allowed him to do this with the most perfect indifference. "Speak," resumed Saint-Aignan, "what do you require?"
"Monsieur," said Porthos. "I have a horse below, be good enough to mount him; he is a very good one, and will play you no tricks."
"Mount on horseback! what for?" inquired Saint-Aignan, with no little curiosity.
"To accompany me where M. de Bragelonne is awaiting us."
"Ah! he wishes to speak to me, I suppose? I can well believe that; he wishes to have the details, very likely; alas! it is a very delicate matter; but at the present moment I cannot, for the king is waiting for me."
"The king must wait, then," said Porthos.
"What do you say? the king must wait!" interrupted the finished courtier, with a smile of utter amazement, for he could not understand that the king could under any circumstances be supposed to have to wait.
"It is merely the affair of a very short hour," returned Porthos.
"But where is M. de Bragelonne waiting for me?"
"At the Minimes, at Vincennes."
"Ah, indeed! but are we going to laugh over the affair when we get there?"
"I don't think it likely," said Porthos, as his face assumed a stern hardness of expression.
"But the Minimes is a rendezvous where duels take place, and what can I have to do at the Minimes?"
Porthos slowly drew his sword, and said: "That is the length of my friend's sword."
"Why, the man is mad!" cried Saint-Aignan.
The color mounted to Porthos' face, as he replied: "If I had not the honor of being in your own apartment, monsieur, and of representing M. de Bragelonne's interests, I would throw you out of the window. It will be merely a pleasure postponed, and you will lose nothing by waiting. Will you come with me to the Minimes, monsieur, of your own free will?"
"But—"
"Take care, I will carry you if you do not come quietly."
"Basque!" cried Saint-Aignan. As soon as Basque appeared, he said, "The king wishes to see Monsieur le Comte."
"That is very different," said Porthos; "the king's service before everything else. We will wait until this evening, monsieur."
And saluting Saint-Aignan with his usual courtesy, Porthos left the room, delighted at having arranged another affair. Saint-Aignan looked after him as he left; and then hastily putting on his coat again, he ran off, arranging his dress as he went along, muttering to himself, "The Minimes! the Minimes! We will see how the king will like this challenge; for it is for him after all, that is certain."
On his return from the promenade, which had been so prolific in poetical effusions, and in which every one had paid his or her tribute to the Muses, as the poets of the period used to say, the king found M. Fouquet waiting for an audience. M. Colbert had laid in wait for his majesty in the corridor, and followed him like a jealous and watchful shadow; M. Colbert, with his square head, his vulgar and untidy, though rich, costume, somewhat resembled a Flemish gentleman after he had been overindulging in his national drink—beer. Fouquet, at the sight of his enemy, remained perfectly unmoved, and during the whole of the scene which followed scrupulously resolved to observe that line of conduct which is so difficult to be carried out by a man of superior mind, who does not even wish to show his contempt, from the fear of doing his adversary too much honor. Colbert made no attempt to conceal the insulting expression of the joy he felt. In his opinion, M. Fouquet's was a game very badly played and hopelessly lost, although not yet finished. Colbert belonged to that school of politicians who think cleverness alone worthy of their admiration, and success the only thing worth caring for. Colbert, moreover, who was not simply an envious and jealous man, but who had the king's interest really at heart, because he was thoroughly imbued with the highest sense of probity in all matters of figures and accounts, could well afford to assign as a pretext for his conduct, that in hating and doing his utmost to ruin M. Fouquet, he had nothing in view but the welfare of the state and the dignity of the crown. None of these details escaped Fouquet's observation; through his enemy's thick, bushy brows, and despite the restless movement of his eyelids, he could, by merely looking at his eyes, penetrate to the very bottom of Colbert's heart, and he read to what an unbounded extent hate toward himself and triumph at his approaching fall existed there. But, as in observing everything, he wished to remain himself impenetrable, he composed his features, smiled with that charmingly sympathetic smile which was peculiarly his own, and saluted the king with the most dignified and graceful ease and elasticity of manner. "Sire," he said, "I perceive by your majesty's joyous air that you have been gratified with the promenade."
"Most gratified, indeed, Monsieur le Surintendant, most gratified. You were very wrong not to come with us, as I invited you to do."
"I was working, sire," replied the surintendant, who did not even seem to take the trouble to turn aside his head even in the merest recognition of Colbert's presence.
"Ah! M. Fouquet," cried the king, "there is nothing like the country. I should be very delighted to live in the country always, in the open air and under the trees."
"I should hope that your majesty is not yet weary of the throne," said Fouquet.
"No: but thrones of soft turf are very delightful."
"Your majesty gratifies my utmost wishes in speaking in that manner, for I have a request to submit to you."
"On whose behalf, monsieur?"
"On behalf of the nymphs of Vaux, sire."
"Ah! ah!" said Louis XIV.
"Your majesty, too, once deigned to make me a promise," said Fouquet.
"Yes, I remember it."
"The fete at Vaux, the celebrated fete, I think, it was, sire," said Colbert, endeavoring to show his importance by taking part in the conversation.
Fouquet, with the profoundest contempt, did not take the slightest notice of the remark, as if, as far as he was concerned, Colbert had not even thought or said a word.
"Your majesty is aware," he said, "that I destine my estate at Vaux to receive the most amiable of princes, the most powerful of monarchs."
"I have given you my promise, monsieur," said Louis XIV., smiling; "and a king never departs from his word."
"And I have come now, sire, to inform your majesty that I am ready to obey your orders in every respect."
"Do you promise me many wonders, Monsieur le Surintendant?" said Louis, looking at Colbert.
"Wonders? Oh! no, sire. I do not undertake that; I hope to be able to procure your majesty a little pleasure, perhaps even a little forgetfulness of the cares of state."
"Nay, nay, M. Fouquet," returned the king; "I insist upon the word 'wonders.' You are a magician, I believe; we all know the power you wield; we also know that you can find gold even when there is none to be found elsewhere; so much so, indeed, that the people say you coin it."
Fouquet felt that the shot was discharged from a double quiver, and that the king had launched an arrow from his own bow as well as one from Colbert's. "Oh!" said he, laughingly, "the people know perfectly well out of what mine I procure the gold; and they know it only too well, perhaps; besides," he added, "I can assure your majesty that the gold destined to pay the expenses of the fete at Vaux will cost neither blood nor tears; hard labor it may, perhaps, but that can be paid for."
Louis paused, quite confused. He wished to look at Colbert; Colbert, too, wished to reply to him; a glance as swift as an eagle's, a proud, loyal, king-like glance, indeed, which Fouquet darted at the latter, arrested the words upon his lips. The king, who had by this time recovered his self-possession, turned toward Fouquet, saying, "I presume, therefore, I am now to consider myself formally invited?"
"Yes, sire, if your majesty will condescend so far as to accept my invitation."
"What day have you fixed?"
"Any day your majesty may find most convenient."
"You speak like an enchanter who has but to conjure up the wildest fancies, Monsieur Fouquet. I could not say so much, indeed."
"Your majesty will do, whenever you please, everything that a monarch can and ought to do. The king of France has servants at his bidding who are able to do anything on his behalf, to accomplish everything to gratify his pleasures."
Colbert tried to look at the surintendant, in order to see whether this remark was an approach to less hostile sentiments on his part; but Fouquet had not even looked at his enemy, and Colbert hardly seemed to exist as far as he was concerned. "Very good, then," said the king. "Will a week hence suit you?"
"Perfectly well, sire."
"This is Tuesday; if I give you until next Sunday week, will that be sufficient?"
"The delay which your majesty deigns to accord me will greatly aid the various works which my architects have in hand for the purpose of adding to the amusement of your majesty and your friends."
"By-the-by, speaking of my friends," resumed the king; "how do you intend to treat them?"
"The king is master everywhere, sire; your majesty will draw up your own list and give your own orders. All those you may deign to invite will be my guests, my honored guests indeed."
"I thank you!" returned the king, touched by the noble thought expressed in so noble a tone.
Fouquet, therefore, took leave of Louis XIV., after a few words had been added with regard to the details of certain matters of business. He felt that Colbert would remain behind with the king, that they would both converse about him, and that neither of them would spare him in the least degree. The satisfaction of being able to give a last and terrible blow to his enemy seemed to him almost like a compensation for everything they were about to subject him to. He turned back again immediately, as soon indeed as he had reached the door, and addressing the king, said, "I was forgetting that I had to crave your majesty's forgiveness."
"In what respect?" said the king, graciously.
"For having committed a serious fault without perceiving it."
"A fault! You! Ah! Monsieur Fouquet, I shall be unable to do otherwise than forgive you. In what way or against whom have you been found wanting?"
"Against every sense of propriety, sire. I forgot to inform your majesty of a circumstance that has lately occurred of some little importance."
"What is it?"
Colbert trembled; he fancied that he was about to frame a denunciation against him. His conduct had been unmasked. A single syllable from Fouquet, a single proof formally advanced, and before the youthful loyalty of feeling which guided Louis XIV., Colbert's favor would disappear at once; the latter trembled, therefore, lest so daring a blow might not overthrow his whole scaffold; in point of fact, the opportunity was so admirably suited to be taken advantage of, that a skillful, practiced player like Aramis would not have let it slip. "Sire," said Fouquet, with an easy, unconcerned air, "since you have had the kindness to forgive me, I am perfectly indifferent about my confession; this morning I sold one of the official appointments I hold."
"One of your appointments," said the king, "which?"
Colbert turned perfectly livid. "That which conferred upon me, sire, a grand gown and a stern air of gravity; the appointment of procureur-general."
The king involuntarily uttered a loud exclamation and looked at Colbert, who, with his face bedewed with perspiration, felt almost on the point of fainting. "To whom have you sold this appointment, Monsieur Fouquet?" inquired the king.
Colbert was obliged to lean against the side of the fireplace. "To a councilor belonging to the parliament, sire, whose name is Vanel."
"Vanel?"
"Yes, sire, a friend of the intendant Colbert," added Fouquet; letting every word fall from his lips with the most inimitable nonchalance, and with an admirably assumed expression of forgetfulness and ignorance. And having finished, and having overwhelmed Colbert beneath the weight of this superiority, the surintendant again saluted the king and quitted the room, partially revenged by the stupefaction of the king and the humiliation of the favorite.
"Is it really possible," said the king, as soon as Fouquet had disappeared, "that he has sold that office?"
"Yes, sire," said Colbert, meaningly.
"He must be mad," the king added.
Colbert this time did not reply; he had penetrated the king's thought, a thought which amply revenged him for the humiliation he had just been made to suffer; his hatred was augmented by a feeling of bitter jealousy of Fouquet; and a threat of disgrace was now added to the plan he had arranged for his ruin. Colbert felt perfectly assured that for the future, between Louis XIV. and himself, their hostile feelings and ideas would meet with no obstacles, and that at the first fault committed by Fouquet, which could be laid hold of as a pretext, the chastisement impending over him would be precipitated. Fouquet had thrown aside his weapons of defense, and hate and jealousy had picked them up. Colbert was invited by the king to the fete at Vaux; he bowed like a man confident in himself, and accepted the invitation with the air of one who almost confers a favor. The king was about writing down Saint-Aignan's name on his list of royal commands, when the usher announced the Comte de Saint-Aignan; as soon as the royal "Mercury" entered, Colbert discreetly withdrew.