THE SHADOW OF M. FOUQUET.
D'Artagnan, still confused and oppressed by the conversation he had just
had with the king, could not resist asking himself if he were really in
possession of his senses; if he were really and truly at Vaux; if he,
D'Artagnan, were really the captain of the musketeers and M. Fouquet the
owner of the chateau in which Louis XIV. was at that moment partaking of
his hospitality. These reflections were not those of a drunken man,
although everything was in prodigal profusion at Vaux, and the
surintendant's wines had met with a distinguished reception at the fete.
The Gascon, however, was a man of calm self-possession; and no sooner
did he touch his bright steel blade, than he knew how to adopt morally
the cold, keen weapon as his guide of action. "Well," he said, as he
quitted the royal apartment, "I seem now to be mixed up historically
with the destinies of the king and of the minister; it will be written,
that M. d'Artagnan, a younger son of a Gascon family, placed his hand on
the shoulder of M. Nicolas Fouquet, the surintendant of the finances of
France. My descendants, if I have any, will flatter themselves with the
distinction which this arrest will confer, just as the members of the De
Luynes family have done with regard to the estates of the poor Maréchal
d'Ancre. But the question is, to execute the king's directions in a
proper manner. Any man would know how to say to M. Fouquet, 'Your sword,
monsieur.' But it is not every one who would be able to take care of M.
Fouquet without others knowings anything about it. How am I to manage,
then, so that M. le Surintendant pass from the height of favor to the
direst disgrace; that Vaux be turned into a dungeon for him; that after
having been steeped to his lips, as it were, in all the perfumes and
incense of Assuerus, he is transferred to the gallows of Haman; in other
words, of Enguerrand de Marigny?" And at this reflection, D'Artagnan's
brow became clouded with perplexity. The musketeer had certain scruples
on the matter, it must be admitted. To deliver up to death (for not a
doubt existed that Louis hated Fouquet mortally) the man who had just
shown himself so delightful and charming a host in every way, was a real
case of conscience.
"It almost seems," said D'Artagnan to himself, "that if I am not a poor,
mean, miserable fellow, I should let M. Fouquet know the opinion the
king has about him. Yet, if I betray my master's secret, I shall be a
false-hearted, treacherous knave, a traitor too, a crime provided for
and punishable by military laws--so much so, indeed, that twenty times,
in former days when wars were rife, I have seen many a miserable fellow
strung up to a tree for doing, in a small degree, what my scruples
counsel me to do to a greater extent now. No, I think that a man of true
readiness of wit ought to get out of this difficulty with more skill
than that. And now, let us admit that I do possess a little readiness of
invention, it is not at all certain, though; for, after having for forty
years absorbed so large a quantity, I shall be lucky if there were to be
a pistole's worth left." D'Artagnan buried his head in his hands, tore
his mustache in sheer vexation, and added, "What can be the reason of M.
Fouquet's disgrace? There seem to be three good ones: the first, because
M. Colbert doesn't like him; the second, because he wished to fall in
love with Mademoiselle de la Valliere; and lastly, because the king
likes M. Colbert and loves Mademoiselle de la Valliere. Oh! he is a lost
man! But shall I put my foot on his neck, I, of all men, when he is
falling a prey to the intrigues of a set of women and clerks? For shame!
If he be dangerous, I will lay him low enough; if, however, he be only
persecuted, I will look on. I have come to such a decisive
determination, that neither king nor living man shall change my opinion.
If Athos were here, he would do as I have done. Therefore, instead of
going, cold-bloodedly, up to M. Fouquet, and arresting him off-hand and
shutting him up altogether, I will try and conduct myself like a man who
understands what good manners are. People will talk about it, of course;
but they shall talk well of it, I am determined." And D'Artagnan,
drawing by a gesture peculiar to himself his shoulder-belt over his
shoulder, went straight off to M. Fouquet, who, after he had taken leave
of his guests, was preparing to retire for the night and to sleep
tranquilly after the triumphs of the day.
The air was still perfumed or infected, whichever way it may be
considered, with the odor of the fireworks. The wax-lights were dying
away in their sockets, the flowers fell unfastened from the garlands,
the groups of dancers and courtiers were separating in the salons.
Surrounded by his friends, who complimented him and received his
flattering remarks in return, the surintendant half-closed his wearied
eyes. He longed for rest and quiet; he sank upon the bed of laurels
which had been heaped up for him for so many days past: it might almost
have been said that he seemed bowed beneath the weight of the new debts
which he had incurred for the purpose of giving the greatest possible
honor to this fete. Fouquet had just retired to his room, still smiling,
but more than half-dead. He could listen to nothing more, he could
hardly keep his eyes open; his bed seemed to possess a fascinating and
irresistible attraction for him. The god Morpheus, the presiding deity
of the dome painted by Lebrun, had extended his influence over the
adjoining rooms, and showered down his most sleep-inducing poppies upon
the master of the house. Fouquet, almost entirely alone, was being
assisted by his valet-de-chambre to undress, when M. d'Artagnan appeared
at the entrance of the room. D'Artagnan had never been able to succeed
in making himself common at the court; and notwithstanding he was seen
everywhere and on all occasions, he never failed to produce an effect
wherever and whenever he made his appearance. Such is the happy
privilege of certain natures, which in that respect resemble either
thunder or lightning; every one recognizes them; but their appearance
never fails to arouse surprise and astonishment, and whenever they occur
the impression is always left that the last was the loudest or brightest
and most violent. "What! M. d'Artagnan?" said Fouquet, who had already
taken his right arm out of the sleeve of his doublet.
"At your service," replied the musketeer.
"Come in, my dear M. d'Artagnan."
"Thank you."
"Have you come to criticise the fete? You are ingenious enough in your
criticisms, I know?"
"By no means."
"Are not your men looked after properly?"
"In every way."
"You are not comfortably lodged, perhaps?"
"Nothing could be better."
"In that case, I have to thank you for being so amiably disposed, and I
must not fail to express my obligations to you for all your flattering
kindness."
These words were as much as to say, "My dear D'Artagnan, pray go to bed,
since you have a bed to lie down on, and let me do the same."
D'Artagnan did not seem to understand it.
"Are you going to bed already?" he said to the surintendant.
"Yes; have you anything to say to me?"
"Nothing, monsieur, nothing at all. You sleep in this room, then?"
"Yes; as you see."
"You have given a most charming fete to the king."
"Do you think so?"
"Oh! beautiful!"
"Is the king pleased?"
"Enchanted."
"Did he desire to say as much to me?"
"He would not choose so unworthy a messenger, monseigneur."
"You do not do yourself justice, Monsieur d'Artagnan."
"Is that your bed, there?"
"Yes; but why do you ask? Are you not satisfied with your own?"
"May I speak frankly to you?"
"Most assuredly."
"Well, then, I am not."
Fouquet started; and then replied, "Will you take my room, Monsieur
d'Artagnan?"
"What? deprive you of it, monseigneur? never!"
"What am I to do then?"
"Allow me to share yours with you."
Fouquet looked at the musketeer fixedly. "Ah! ah!" he said, "you have
just left the king."
"I have, monseigneur."
"And the king wishes you to pass the night in my room?"
"Monseigneur--"
"Very well, Monsieur d'Artagnan, very well. You are master here."
"I assure you, monseigneur, that I do not wish to abuse--"
Fouquet turned to his valet, and said, "Leave us." When the man had
left, he said to D'Artagnan, "You have something to say to me?"
"I?"
"A man of your superior intelligence cannot have come to talk with a man
like myself, at such an hour as the present, without grave motives."
"Do not interrogate me."
"On the contrary. What do you want with me?"
"Nothing more than the pleasure of your society."
"Come into the garden, then," said the surintendant suddenly, "or into
the park."
"No," replied the musketeer hastily, "no."
"Why?"
"The fresh air--"
"Come, admit at once that you arrest me," said the surintendant to the
captain.
"Never!" said the latter.
"You intend to look after me, then?"
"Yes, monseigneur, I do, upon my honor."
"Upon your honor!--ah! that is quite another thing! so I am to be
arrested in my own house."
"Do not say such a thing."
"On the contrary, I will proclaim it aloud."
"If you do so, I shall be compelled to request you to be silent."
"Very good! Violence toward me, and in my own house, too!"
"We do not seem to understand each other at all. Stay a moment; there is
a chess-board there; we will have a game, if you have no objection."
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, I am in disgrace, then?"
"Not at all; but--"
"I am prohibited, I suppose, from withdrawing from your sight."
"I do not understand a word you are saying, monseigneur; and if you wish
me to withdraw, tell me so."
"My dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, your mode of action is enough to drive me
mad; I was almost sinking for want of sleep, but you have completely
awakened me."
"I shall never forgive myself, I am sure; and if you wish to reconcile
me with myself, why go to sleep in your bed in my presence; I shall be
delighted at it."
"I am under surveillance, I see."
"I will leave the room if you say such a thing as that."
"You are beyond my comprehension."
"Good-night, monseigneur," said D'Artagnan, as he pretended to withdraw.
Fouquet ran after him. "I will not lie down," he said. "Seriously, and
since you refuse to treat me as a man, and since you finesse with me, I
will try and set you at bay, as a hunter does a wild boar."
"Bah!" cried D'Artagnan, pretending to smile.
"I shall order my horses, and set off for Paris," said Fouquet, sounding
the heart of the captain of the musketeers.
"If that be the case, monseigneur, it is very different."
"You will arrest me, then?"
"No, but I shall go with you."
"That is quite sufficient, Monsieur d'Artagnan," returned Fouquet, in a
cold tone of voice. "It is not idly that you have acquired your
reputation as a man of intelligence and full of resources; but with me
that is quite superfluous. Let us two come to the point. Grant me a
service. Why do you arrest me? What have I done?"
"Oh! I know nothing about what you may have done; but I do not arrest
you, this evening, at least!"
"This evening!" said Fouquet, turning pale, "but to-morrow?"
"It is not to-morrow just yet, monseigneur. Who can ever answer for the
to-morrow?"
"Quick, quick, captain! let me speak to M. d'Herblay."
"Alas! that is quite impossible, monseigneur. I have strict orders to
see that you hold no communication with any one."
"With M. d'Herblay, captain--with your friend!"
"Monseigneur, is M. d'Herblay the only person with whom you ought to be
prevented holding any communication?"
Fouquet colored, and then assuming an air of resignation, he said, "You
are right, monsieur; you have taught me a lesson that I ought not to
have provoked. A fallen man cannot assert his right to anything, even
from those whose fortunes he may have made; for a still greater reason,
he cannot claim anything from those to whom he may never have had the
happiness of doing a service."
"Monseigneur!"
"It is perfectly true, M. d'Artagnan; you have always acted in the most
admirable manner toward me--in such a manner, indeed, as most becomes
the man who is destined to arrest me. You, at least, have never asked me
anything."
"Monseigneur," replied the Gascon, touched by his eloquent and noble
tone of grief, "will you--I ask it as a favor--pledge me your word as a
man of honor that you will not leave this room?"
"What is the use of it, dear M. d'Artagnan, since you keep watch and
ward over me? Do you suppose that I should struggle against the most
valiant sword in the kingdom?"
"It is not that at all, monseigneur; but that I am going to look for M.
d'Herblay, and, consequently, to leave you alone."
Fouquet uttered a cry of delight and surprise.
"To look for M. d'Herblay! to leave me alone!" he exclaimed, clasping
his hands together.
"Which is M. d'Herblay's room? The blue room, is it not?"
"Yes, my friend, yes."
"Your friend! thank you for that word, monseigneur; you confer it upon
me to-day, at least, even if you have never done so before."
"Ah! you have saved me."
"It will take me a good ten minutes to go from hence to the blue room,
and to return?" said D'Artagnan.
"Nearly so."
"And then to wake Aramis, who sleeps very soundly when he is asleep, I
put that down at another five minutes; making a total of fifteen
minutes' absence. And now, monseigneur, give me your word that you will
not in any way attempt to make your escape, and that when I return I
shall find you here again."
"I give it you, monsieur," replied Fouquet, with an expression of the
warmest and deepest gratitude.
D'Artagnan disappeared. Fouquet looked at him as he quitted the room,
waited with a feverish impatience until the door was closed behind him,
and as soon as it was shut, flew to his keys, opened two or three secret
doors concealed in various articles of furniture in the room, looked
vainly for certain papers, which doubtless he had left at Saint-Mandé,
and which he seemed to regret not having found in them; then hurriedly
seizing hold of letters, contracts, paper writings, he heaped them up
into a pile, which he burned in the extremest haste upon the marble
hearth of the fireplace, not even taking time to draw from the interior
of it the vases and pots of flowers with which it was filled.
As soon as he had finished, like a man who had just escaped an imminent
danger, and whose strength abandons him as soon as the danger is past,
he sank down completely overcome on a couch. When D'Artagnan returned,
he found Fouquet in the same position; the worthy musketeer had not the
slightest doubt that Fouquet, having given his word, would not even
think of failing to keep it, but he had thought it most likely that
Fouquet would turn his (D'Artagnan's) absence to the best advantage in
getting rid of all the papers, memorandums, and contracts, which might
possibly render his position, which was even now serious enough, still
more dangerous than ever. And so, lifting up his head, like a dog who
gains the scent, he perceived a certain odor resembling smoke, which he
fully relied upon finding in the atmosphere, and having found it, he
made a movement of his head in token of satisfaction. When D'Artagnan
had entered, Fouquet had, on his side, raised his head, and not one of
D'Artagnan's movements had escaped him. And then the looks of the two
men met, and they both saw that they had understood each other without
exchanging a syllable.
"Well!" asked Fouquet, the first to speak, "and M. d'Herblay?"
"Upon my word, monseigneur," replied D'Artagnan, "M. d'Herblay must be
desperately fond of walks by night, and composing verses by moonlight in
the park of Vaux, with some of your poets, in all probability, for he is
not in his own room."
"What! not in his own room?" cried Fouquet, whose last hope had thus
escaped him; for unless he could ascertain in what way the bishop of
Vannes could assist him, he perfectly well knew that in reality he could
not expect assistance from any one but him.
"Or, indeed," continued D'Artagnan, "if he is in his own room, he has
very good reasons for not answering."
"But surely you did not call him in such a manner that he could have
heard you?"
"You can hardly suppose, monseigneur, that having already exceeded my
orders, which forbade me leaving you a single moment--you can hardly
suppose, I say, that I should have been mad enough to rouse the whole
house and allow myself to be seen in the corridor of the bishop of
Vannes, in order that M. Colbert might state with positive certainty
that I gave you time to burn your papers."
"My papers?"
"Of course; at least that is what I should have done in your place; when
any one opens a door for me, I always availed myself of it."
"Yes, yes, and I thank you, for I have availed myself of it."
"And you have done perfectly right. Every man has his own peculiar
secrets, with which others have nothing to do. But let us return to
Aramis, monseigneur."
"Well, then, I tell you, you could not have called loud enough, or
Aramis would have heard you."
"However softly any one may call Aramis, monseigneur, Aramis always
hears when he has an interest in hearing. I repeat what I said
before--Aramis was not in his own room, or Aramis had certain reasons
for not recognizing my voice, of which I am ignorant, and of which you
even may be ignorant yourself, notwithstanding your liege-man is his
greatness the lord bishop of Vannes."
Fouquet drew a deep sigh, rose from his seat, made three or four turns
in his room, and finished by seating himself, with an expression of
extreme dejection, upon his magnificent bed with velvet hangings and
trimmed with the costliest lace. D'Artagnan looked at Fouquet with
feelings of the deepest and sincerest pity.
"I have seen a good many men arrested in my life," said the musketeer,
sadly; "I have seen both M. de Cinq-Mars and M. de Chalais arrested,
though I was very young then. I have seen M. de Conde arrested with the
princes; I have seen M. de Retz arrested; I have seen M. Broussel
arrested. Stay a moment, monseigneur, it is disagreeable to have to say,
but the very one of all those whom you most resemble at this moment was
that poor fellow Broussel. You were very near doing as he did, putting
your dinner napkin in your portfolio, and wiping your mouth with your
papers. Mordioux! Monseigneur Fouquet, a man like you ought not to be
dejected in this manner. Suppose your friends saw you."
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," returned the surintendant, with a smile full of
gentleness, "you do not understand me; it is precisely because my
friends do not see me that I am such as you see me now. I do not live,
exist even, isolated from others; I am nothing when left to myself.
Understand that throughout my whole life I have passed every moment of
my time in making friends, whom I hoped to render my stay and support.
In times of prosperity, all these cheerful, happy voices--and rendered
so through and by my means--formed in my honor a concert of praises and
kindly actions. In the least disfavor, these humbler voices accompanied
in harmonious accents the murmur of my own heart. Isolation I have never
yet known. Poverty (a phantom I have sometimes beheld, clad in rags,
awaiting me at the end of my journey through life)--this poverty has
been the specter with which many of my own friends have trifled for
years past, which they poetize and caress, and which has attracted me
toward them. Poverty! I accept it, acknowledge it, receive it, as a
disinherited sister; for poverty is not solitude, nor exile, nor
imprisonment. Is it likely I shall ever be poor, with such friends as
Pellisson, as La Fontaine, as Moliere; with such a mistress as--Oh! if
you knew how utterly lonely and desolate I feel at this moment, and how
you, who separate me from all I love, seem to resemble the image of
solitude, of annihilation, and of death itself."
"But I have already told you, Monsieur Fouquet," replied D'Artagnan,
moved to the depths of his soul, "that you exaggerate matters a great
deal too much. The king likes you."
"No, no," said Fouquet, shaking his head.
"M. de Colbert hates you."
"M. de Colbert! What does that matter to me?"
"He will ruin you."
"Oh! I defy him to do that, for I am ruined already."
At this singular confession of the surintendant, D'Artagnan cast his
glance all round the room; and although he did not open his lips,
Fouquet understood him so thoroughly, that he added, "What can be done
with such wealth of substance as surrounds us, when a man can no longer
cultivate his taste for the magnificent? Do you know what good the
greater part of the wealth and the possessions which we rich enjoy
confer upon us? merely to disgust us, by their very splendor even, with
everything which does not equal this splendor. Vaux! you will say, and
the wonders of Vaux! What then? What boot these wonders? If I am ruined,
how shall I fill with water the urns which my Naiads bear in their arms,
or force the air into the lungs of my Tritons? To be rich enough,
Monsieur d'Artagnan, a man must be too rich."
D'Artagnan shook his head.
"Oh! I know very well what you think," replied Fouquet, quickly. "If
Vaux were yours, you would sell it, and would purchase an estate in the
country; an estate which would have woods, orchards, and land attached,
and that this estate should be made to support its master. With forty
millions you might--"
"Ten millions," interrupted D'Artagnan.
"Not a million, my dear captain. No one in France is rich enough to give
two millions for Vaux, and to continue to maintain it as I have done; no
one could do it, no one would know how."
"Well," said D'Artagnan, "in any case, a million is not abject misery."
"It is not far from it, my dear monsieur. But you do not understand me.
No; I will not sell my residence at Vaux; I will give it to you, if you
like;" and Fouquet accompanied these words with a movement of the
shoulders to which it would be impossible to do justice.
"Give it to the king; you will make a better bargain."
"The king does not require me to give it to him," said Fouquet; "he will
take it away from me with the most perfect ease and grace, if it please
him to do so; and that is the reason why I should prefer to see it
perish. Do you know, Monsieur d'Artagnan, that if the king did not
happen to be under my roof, I would take this candle, go straight to the
dome, and set fire to a couple of huge chests of fusees and fireworks
which are in reserve there, and would reduce my palace to ashes."
"Bah!" said the musketeer, negligently. "At all events, you would not be
able to burn the gardens, and that is the best part about the place."
"And yet," resumed Fouquet, thoughtfully, "what was I saying? Great
heavens! burn Vaux! destroy my palace! But Vaux is not mine; this
wealth, these wonderful creations are, it is true, the property, as far
as sense of enjoyment goes, of the man who has paid for them; but as far
as duration is concerned they belong to those who created them. Vaux
belongs to Lebrun, to Lenotre, to Pellisson, to Levan, to La Fontaine,
to Moliere; Vaux belongs to posterity, in fact. You see, Monsieur
d'Artagnan, that my very house ceases to be my own."
"That is all well and good," said D'Artagnan; "the idea is agreeable
enough, and I recognize M. Fouquet himself in it. That idea, indeed,
makes me forget that poor fellow Broussel altogether; and I now fail to
recognize in you the whining complaints of that old Frondeur. If you are
ruined, monsieur, look at the affair manfully, for you, too, mordioux!
belong to posterity, and have no right to lessen yourself in any way.
Stay a moment, look at me, I who seem to exercise in a degree a kind of
superiority over you, because I arrest you; fate, which distributes
their different parts to the comedians of this world, accorded to me a
less agreeable and less advantageous part to fill than yours has been;
I am one of those who think that the parts which kings and powerful
nobles are called upon to act are infinitely of more worth than the
parts of beggars or lackeys. It is far better on the stage--on the
stage, I mean, of another theater than the theater of this world--it is
far better to wear a fine coat and to talk fine language, than to walk
the boards shod with a pair of old shoes, or to get one's backbone
gently caressed by a sound thrashing with a stick. In one word, you have
been a prodigal with money, you have ordered and been obeyed--have been
steeped to the lips in enjoyment; while I have dragged my tether after
me, have been commanded and have obeyed, and have drudged my life away.
Well! although I may seem of such trifling importance beside you,
monseigneur, I do declare to you, that the recollection of what I have
done serves me as a spur, and prevents me from bowing my old head too
soon. I shall remain until the very end, a good trooper; and when my
turn comes, I shall fall perfectly straight all in a heap, still alive,
after having selected my place beforehand. Do as I do, Monsieur Fouquet,
you will not find yourself the worse for it; that happens only once in a
lifetime to men like yourself, and the chief thing is, to do it well
when the chance presents itself. There is a Latin proverb--the words
have escaped me, but I remember the sense of it very well, for I have
thought over it more than once, which says, 'The end crowns the work!'"
Fouquet rose from his seat, passed his arm round D'Artagnan's neck and
clasped him in a close embrace, while with the other hand he pressed his
hand. "An excellent homily," he said after a moment's pause.
"A soldier's, monseigneur."
"You have a regard for me, in telling me all that."
"Perhaps."
Fouquet resumed his pensive attitude once more, and then, a moment
after, he said: "Where can M. d'Herblay be? I dare not ask you to send
for him."
"You would not ask me, because I would not do it, Monsieur Fouquet.
People would learn it, and Aramis, who is not mixed up with the affair,
might possibly be compromised and included in your disgrace."
"I will wait here till daylight," said Fouquet.
"Yes; that is best."
"What shall we do when daylight comes?"
"I know nothing at all about it, monseigneur."
"Monsieur D'Artagnan, will you do me a favor?"
"Most willingly."
"You guard me, I remain, you are acting in the full discharge of your
duty, I suppose?"
"Certainly."
"Very good, then; remain as close to me as my shadow, if you like; and I
infinitely prefer such a shadow to any one else."
D'Artagnan bowed to this compliment.
"But forget that you are Monsieur d'Artagnan, captain of the musketeers;
forget that I am Monsieur Fouquet, surintendant of the finances; and let
us talk about my affairs."
"That is rather a delicate subject."
"Indeed?"
"Yes; but, for your sake, Monsieur Fouquet, I will do what may almost be
regarded as an impossibility."
"Thank you. What did the king say to you?"
"Nothing."
"Ah! is that the way you talk?"
"The deuce!"
"What do you think of my situation?"
"Nothing."
"However, unless you have some ill feeling against me--"
"Your position is a difficult one."
"In what respect?"
"Because you are under your own roof."
"However difficult it may be, yet I understand it very well."
"Do you suppose that, with any one else but yourself, I should have
shown so much frankness?"
"What! so much frankness, do you say? you, who refuse to tell me the
slightest thing?"
"At all events, then, so much ceremony and consideration."
"Ah! I have nothing to say in that respect."
"One moment, monseigneur; let me tell you how I should have behaved
toward any one else but yourself. It might be that I happened to arrive
at your door just as your guests or your friends had left you--or, if
they had not yet gone, I should wait until they were leaving, and should
then catch them one after the other, like rabbits; I should lock them up
quietly enough; I should steal softly along the carpet of your corridor,
and with one hand upon you, before you suspected the slightest thing
about it, I should keep you safely until my master's breakfast in the
morning. In this way, I should just the same have avoided all publicity,
all disturbance, all opposition; but there would also have been no
warning for M. Fouquet, no consideration for his feelings, none of those
delicate concessions which are shown by persons who are essentially
courteous in their natures, whenever the decisive moment may arrive. Are
you satisfied with that plan?"
"It makes me shudder."
"I thought you would not like it. It would have been very disagreeable
to have made your appearance to-morrow, without any preparation, and to
have asked you to deliver up your sword."
"Oh! monsieur, I should have died from sheer shame and anger."
"Your gratitude is too eloquently expressed. I have not done enough to
deserve it, I assure you."
"Most certainly, monsieur, you will never get me to believe that."
"Well, then, monseigneur, if you are satisfied with what I have done,
and have somewhat recovered from the shock which I prepared you for as
much as I possibly could, let us allow the few hours that remain to pass
away undisturbed. You are harassed, and require to arrange your
thoughts; I beg you, therefore, to go to sleep, or pretend to go to
sleep, either on your bed or in your bed; I shall sleep in this
armchair; and when I fall asleep, my rest is so sound that a cannon
would not wake me."
Fouquet smiled. "I except, however," continued the musketeer, "the case
of a door being opened, whether a secret door, or any other; or the case
of any one going out of, or coming into the room. For anything like
that, my ear is as quick and sensitive as possible. Any creaking noise
makes me start. It arises, I suppose, from a natural antipathy to
anything of the kind. Move about as much as you like; walk up and down
in any part of the room; write, efface, destroy, burn--nothing like that
will prevent me from going to sleep, or even prevent me from snoring;
but do not touch either the key or the handle of the door! for I should
start up in a moment, and that would shake my nerves terribly."
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Fouquet, "you are certainly the most witty
and the most courteous man I ever met with; and you will leave me only
one regret, that of having made your acquaintance so late."
D'Artagnan drew a deep sigh, which seemed to say, "Alas! you have
perhaps made it too soon." He then settled himself in his armchair,
while Fouquet, half lying on his bed and leaning on his arm, was
meditating upon his adventure. In this way, both of them, leaving the
candles burning, awaited the first dawn of day; and when Fouquet
happened to sigh too loudly, D'Artagnan only snored the louder. Not a
single visit, not even from Aramis, disturbed their quietude; not a
sound even was heard throughout the vast palace. Outside, however, the
guards of honor on duty, and the patrols of the musketeers, paced up and
down; and the sound of their feet could be heard on the gravel walks. It
seemed to act as an additional soporific for the sleepers; while the
murmuring of the wind through the trees, and the unceasing music of the
fountains, whose waters fell tumbling into the basins, still went on
uninterruptedly, without being disturbed at the slight noises and
matters of trifling moment which constitute the life and death of human
nature.