“Do you propose that we should go out together now?”
“My carriage is here, and I have three hours at my disposal.”
“I am not dressed yet, Marguerite; but if you wish that we should talk together, we can, without going to the woods of Vincennes, find in my own garden here, beautiful trees, shady groves, a green sward covered with daisies and violets, the perfume of which can be perceived from where we are sitting.”
“I regret your refusal, my dear marquise, for I wanted to pour out my whole heart into yours.”
“I repeat again, Marguerite, my heart is yours just as much in this room, or beneath the lime-trees in the garden here, as it would be under the oaks in the woods yonder.”
“It is not the same thing for me. In approaching Vincennes, marquise, my ardent aspirations approach nearer to that object towards which they have for some days past been directed.” The marquise suddenly raised her head. “Are you surprised, then, that I am still thinking of Saint-Mandé?”
“Of Saint-Mandé?” exclaimed Madame de Bellière; and the looks of both women met each other like two resistless swords.
“You, so proud!” said the marquise, disdainfully.
“I, so proud!” replied Madame Vanel. “Such is my nature. I do not forgive neglect—I cannot endure infidelity. When I leave anyone who weeps at my abandonment, I feel induced still to love him; but when others forsake me and laugh at their infidelity, I love distractedly.”
Madame de Bellière could not restrain an involuntary movement.
She is jealous
, said Marguerite to herself. “Then,” continued the marquise, “you are quite enamored of the Duke of Buckingham—I mean of M. Fouquet?” Elise felt the allusion, and her blood seemed to congeal in her heart. “And you wished to go to Vincennes—to Saint-Mandé, even?”
“I hardly know what I wished: you would have advised me perhaps.”
“In what respect?”
“You have often done so.”
“Most certainly I should not have done so in the present instance, for I do not forgive as you do. I am less loving, perhaps; when my heart has been once wounded, it remains so always.”
“But M. Fouquet has not wounded you,” said Marguerite Vanel, with the most perfect simplicity.
“You perfectly understand what I mean. M. Fouquet has not wounded me; I do not know of either obligation or injury received at his hands, but you have reason to complain of him. You are my friend, and I am afraid I should not advise you as you would like.”
“Ah! you are prejudging the case.”
“The sighs you spoke of just now are more than indications.”
“You overwhelm me,” said the young woman suddenly, as if collecting her whole strength, like a wrestler preparing for a last struggle; “you take only my evil dispositions and my weaknesses into calculation, and do not speak of my pure and generous feelings. If, at this moment, I feel instinctively attracted towards the superintendent, if I even make an advance to him, which, I confess, is very probable, my motive for it is, that M. Fouquet’s fate deeply affects me, and because he is, in my opinion, one of the most unfortunate men living.”
“Ah!” said the marquise, placing her hand upon her heart, “something new, then, has occurred?”
“Do you not know it?”
“I am utterly ignorant of everything about him,” said Madame de Bellière, with the poignant anguish that suspends thought and speech, and even life itself.
“In the first place, then, the king’s favor is entirely withdrawn from M. Fouquet, and conferred on M. Colbert.”
“So it is stated.”
“It is very clear, since the discovery of the plot of Belle-Isle.”
“I was told that the discovery of the fortifications there had turned out to M. Fouquet’s honor.”
Marguerite began to laugh in so cruel a manner that Madame de Bellière could at that moment have delightedly plunged a dagger in her bosom. “Dearest,” continued Marguerite, “there is no longer any question of M. Fouquet’s honor; his safety is concerned. Before three days are passed the ruin of the superintendent will be complete.”
“Stay,” said the marquise, in her turn smiling, “that is going a little fast.”
“I said three days, because I wish to deceive myself with a hope; but probably the catastrophe will be complete within twenty-four hours.”
“Why so?”
“For the simplest of all reasons—that M. Fouquet has no more money.”
“In matters of finance, my dear Marguerite, some are without money today, who tomorrow can procure millions.”
“That might be M. Fouquet’s case when he had two wealthy and clever friends who amassed money for him, and wrung it from every possible or impossible source; but those friends are dead.”
“Money does not die, Marguerite; it may be concealed, but it can be looked for, bought and found.”
“You see things on the bright side, and so much the better for you. It is really very unfortunate that you are not the Egeria of M. Fouquet; you might now show him the source whence he could obtain the millions which the king asked him for yesterday.”
“Millions!” said the marquise, in terror.
“Four—an even number.”
“Infamous!” murmured Madame de Bellière, tortured by her friend’s merciless delight.
“M. Fouquet, I should think, must certainly have four millions,” she replied, courageously.
“If he has those which the king requires today,” said Marguerite, “he will not, perhaps, possess those which the king will demand in a month or so.”
“The king will exact money from him again, then?”
“No doubt; and that is my reason for saying that the ruin of poor M. Fouquet is inevitable. Pride will induce him to furnish the money, and when he has no more, he will fall.”
“It is true,” said the marquise, trembling; “the plan is a bold one; but tell me, does M. Colbert hate M. Fouquet so very much?”
“I think he does not like him. M. Colbert is powerful; he improves on close acquaintance; he has gigantic ideas, a strong will, and discretion; he will rise.”
“He will be superintendent?”
“It is probable. Such is the reason, my dear marquise, why I felt myself impressed in favor of that poor
