“Oh, a mere trifle; six letters, as I have already told you, from M. de Mazarin; and the autographs will most assuredly not be regarded as too highly priced, if they establish, in an irrefutable manner, that M. Fouquet has embezzled large sums of money from the treasury and appropriated them to his own purposes.”
“In an irrefutable manner, do you say?” observed Colbert, whose eyes sparkled with delight.
“Perfectly so; would you like to read the letters?”
“With all my heart! Copies, of course?”
“Of course, the copies,” said the duchesse, as she drew from her bosom a small packet of papers flattened by her velvet bodice. “Read,” she said.
Colbert eagerly snatched the papers and devoured them. “Excellent!” he said.
“It is clear enough, is it not?”
“Yes, Madame, yes; M. Mazarin must have handed the money to M. Fouquet, who must have kept it for his own purposes; but the question is, what money?”
“Exactly—what money; if we come to terms I will join to these six letters a seventh, which will supply you with the fullest particulars.”
Colbert reflected. “And the originals of these letters?”
“A useless question to ask; exactly as if I were to ask you, Monsieur Colbert, whether the moneybags you will give me will be full or empty.”
“Very good, Madame.”
“Is it concluded?”
“No; for there is one circumstance to which neither of us has given any attention.”
“Name it!”
“M. Fouquet can be utterly ruined, under the legal circumstances you have detailed, only by means of legal proceedings.”
“Well?”
“A public scandal, for instance; and yet neither the legal proceedings nor the scandal can be commenced against him.”
“Why not?”
“Because he is procureur-général of the parliament; because, too, in France, all public administrators, the army, justice itself, and commerce, are intimately connected by ties of good-fellowship, which people call esprit de corps. In such a case, Madame, the parliament will never permit its chief to be dragged before a public tribunal; and never, even if he be dragged there by royal authority, never, I say, will he be condemned.”
“Well, Monsieur Colbert, I do not see what I have to do with that.”
“I am aware of that, Madame; but I have to do with it, and it consequently diminishes the value of what you have brought to show me. What good can a proof of a crime be to me, without the possibility of obtaining a condemnation?”
“Even if he be only suspected, M. Fouquet will lose his post of superintendent.”
“Is that all?” exclaimed Colbert, whose dark, gloomy features were momentarily lighted up by an expression of hate and vengeance.
“Ah! ah! Monsieur Colbert,” said the duchesse, “forgive me, but I did not think you were so impressionable. Very good; in that case, since you need more than I have to give you, there is no occasion to speak of the matter at all.”
“Yes, Madame, we will go on talking of it; only, as the value of your commodities had decreased, you must lower your pretensions.”
“You are bargaining, then?”
“Every man who wishes to deal loyally is obliged to do so.”
“How much will you offer me?”
“Two hundred thousand francs,” said Colbert.
The duchesse laughed in his face, and then said, suddenly, “Wait a moment, I have another arrangement to propose; will you give me three hundred thousand francs?”
“No, no.”
“Oh, you can either accept or refuse my terms; besides, that is not all.”
“More still! you are becoming too impracticable to deal with, Madame.”
“Less so than you think, perhaps, for it is not money I am going to ask you for.”
“What is it, then?”
“A service; you know that I have always been most affectionately attached to the queen, and I am desirous of having an interview with Her Majesty.”
“With the queen?”
“Yes, Monsieur Colbert, with the queen, who is, I admit, no longer my friend, and who has ceased to be so for a long time past, but who may again become so if the opportunity be only given her.”
“Her Majesty has ceased to receive anyone, Madame. She is a great sufferer, and you may be aware that the paroxysms of her disease occur with greater frequency than ever.”
“That is the very reason why I wish to have an interview with Her Majesty; for in Flanders there is a great variety of these kinds of complaints.”
“What, cancers—a fearful, incurable disorder?”
“Do not believe that, Monsieur Colbert. The Flemish peasant is somewhat a man of nature, and his companion for life is not alone a wife, but a female laborer also; for while he is smoking his pipe, the woman works: it is she who draws the water from the well; she who loads the mule or the ass, and even bears herself a portion of the burden. Taking but little care of herself, she gets knocked about first in one direction, and then in another, and very often is beaten by her husband, and cancers frequently rise from contusions.”
“True, true,” said Colbert.
“The Flemish women do not die the sooner on that account. When they are great sufferers from this disease they go in search of remedies, and the Béguines of Bruges are excellent doctors for every kind of disease. They have precious waters of one sort or another; specifics of various kinds; and they give a bottle of it and a wax candle to the sufferer, whereby the priests are gainers, and Heaven is served by the disposal of both their wares. I will take the queen some of this holy water, which I will procure from the Béguines of Bruges; Her Majesty will recover, and will burn as many wax candles as she may see fit. You see, Monsieur Colbert, to prevent my seeing the queen is almost as bad as committing the crime of regicide.”
“You are undoubtedly, Madame la Duchesse, a woman of exceedingly great abilities, and I am more than astounded at their display; still I cannot but suppose that this charitable consideration towards the queen in some measure covers a slight personal interest for yourself.”
“I have not given myself the trouble to conceal it, that I am aware of, Monsieur Colbert. You said, I believe, that I
