At this word d’Artagnan started.
“Do you,” continued the king, “imagine yourself to be a spy?”
“No, no,” said d’Artagnan, but pensively; “the thing changes its face when one observes an enemy: one is but a soldier. And if they are fortifying Belle-Isle?” added he, quickly.
“You will take an exact plan of the fortifications.”
“Will they permit me to enter?”
“That does not concern me; that is your affair. Did you not understand that I reserved for you a supplement of twenty thousand livres per annum, if you wished it?”
“Yes, sire; but if they are not fortifying?”
“You will return quietly, without fatiguing your horse.”
“Sire, I am ready.”
“You will begin tomorrow by going to Monsieur le Surintendant’s to take the first quarter of the pension I give you. Do you know M. Fouquet?”
“Very little, sire; but I beg Your Majesty to observe that I don’t think it immediately necessary that I should know him.”
“Your pardon, Monsieur; for he will refuse you the money I wish you to take; and it is that refusal I look for.”
“Ah!” said d’Artagnan. “Then, sire?”
“The money being refused, you will go and seek it at M. Colbert’s. Apropos, have you a good horse?”
“An excellent one, sire.”
“How much did it cost you?”
“A hundred and fifty pistoles.”
“I will buy it of you. Here is a note for two hundred pistoles.”
“But I want a horse for my journey, sire.”
“Well!”
“Well, and you take mine from me.”
“Not at all. On the contrary, I give it you. Only as it is now mine and not yours, I am sure you will not spare it.”
“Your Majesty is in a hurry, then?”
“A great hurry.”
“Then what compels me to wait two days?”
“Reasons known to myself.”
“That’s a different affair. The horse may make up the two days, in the eight he has to travel; and then there is the post.”
“No, no, the post compromises, Monsieur d’Artagnan. Begone and do not forget you are my servant.”
“Sire, it is not my duty to forget it! At what hour tomorrow shall I take my leave of Your Majesty?”
“Whence do you lodge?”
“I must henceforward lodge at the Louvre.”
“That must not be now—keep your lodgings in the city: I will pay for them. As to your departure, it must take place at night; you must set out without being seen by anyone, or, if you are seen, it must not be known that you belong to me. Keep your mouth shut, Monsieur.”
“Your Majesty spoils all you have said by that single word.”
“I asked where you lodged, for I cannot always send to M. le Comte de la Fère to seek you.”
“I lodge with M. Planchet, a grocer, Rue des Lombards, at the sign of the Pilon d’Or.”
“Go out but little, show yourself less, and await my orders.”
“And yet, sire, I must go for the money.”
“That is true, but when going to the superintendence, where so many people are constantly going, you must mingle with the crowd.”
“I want the notes, sire, for the money.”
“Here they are.” The king signed them, and d’Artagnan looked on, to assure himself of their regularity.
“Adieu! Monsieur d’Artagnan,” added the king; “I think you have perfectly understood me.”
“I? I understand that Your Majesty sends me to Belle-Île-en-Mer, that is all.”
“To learn?”
“To learn how M. Fouquet’s works are going on; that is all.”
“Very well: I admit you may be taken.”
“And I do not admit it,” replied the Gascon, boldly.
“I admit you may be killed,” continued the king.
“That is not probable, sire.”
“In the first case, you must not speak; in the second there must be no papers found upon you.”
D’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders without ceremony, and took leave of the king, saying to himself:—The English shower continues—let us remain under the spout!
54
The Houses of M. Fouquet
Whilst d’Artagnan was returning to Planchet’s house, his head aching and bewildered with all that had happened to him, there was passing a scene of quite a different character, and which, nevertheless, is not foreign to the conversation our musketeer had just had with the king; only this scene took place out of Paris, in a house possessed by the superintendent Fouquet in the village of Saint-Mandé. The minister had just arrived at this country-house, followed by his principal clerk, who carried an enormous portfolio full of papers to be examined, and others waiting for signature. As it might be about five o’clock in the afternoon, the masters had dined: supper was being prepared for twenty subaltern guests. The superintendent did not stop: on alighting from his carriage, he, at the same bound, sprang through the doorway, traversed the apartments and gained his cabinet, where he declared he would shut himself up to work, commanding that he should not be disturbed for anything but an order from the king. As soon as this order was given, Fouquet shut himself up, and two footmen were placed as sentinels at his door. Then Fouquet pushed a bolt which displaced a panel that walled up the entrance, and prevented everything that passed in this apartment from being either seen or heard. But, against all probability, it was only for the sake of shutting himself up that Fouquet shut himself up thus, for he went straight to a bureau, seated himself at it, opened the portfolio, and began to make a choice amongst the enormous mass of papers it contained. It was not more than ten minutes after he had entered, and taken all the precautions we have described, when the repeated noise of several slight equal knocks struck his ear, and appeared to fix his utmost attention. Fouquet raised his head, turned his ear, and listened.
The strokes continued. Then the worker arose with a slight movement of impatience and walked straight up to a glass behind which the blows were struck by a hand, or by some invisible mechanism. It was a large glass let into a panel. Three other glasses, exactly similar to it, completed the symmetry of the apartment. Nothing distinguished that one from the others. Without doubt, these reiterated knocks were a
