Fouquet bent down his head, as he replied, “I am a poor, self-determined man, a true Breton born; my mind admires and fears yours. I do not say that I keep my word from a proper feeling only; I keep it, if you like, from custom, practice, pride, or what you will; but, at all events, the ordinary run of men are simple enough to admire this custom of mine; it is my sole good quality—leave me such honor as it confers.”
“And so you are determined to sign the sale of the very appointment which can alone defend you against all your enemies.”
“Yes, I shall sign.”
“You will deliver yourself up, then, bound hand and foot, from a false notion of honor, which the most scrupulous casuists would disdain?”
“I shall sign,” repeated Fouquet.
Aramis sighed deeply, and looked all round him with the impatient gesture of a man who would gladly dash something to pieces, as a relief to his feelings. “We have still one means left,” he said; “and I trust you will not refuse me to make use of that.”
“Certainly not, if it be loyal and honorable; as everything is, in fact, which you propose.”
“I know nothing more loyal than the renunciation of your purchaser. Is he a friend of yours?”
“Certainly: but—”
“ ‘But!’—if you allow me to manage the affair, I do not despair.”
“Oh! you shall be absolutely master to do what you please.”
“Whom are you in treaty with? What manner of man is it?”
“I am not aware whether you know the parliament.”
“Most of its members. One of the presidents, perhaps?”
“No; only a counselor, of the name of Vanel.”
Aramis became perfectly purple. “Vanel!” he cried, rising abruptly from his seat; “Vanel! the husband of Marguerite Vanel?”
“Exactly.”
“Of your former mistress?”
“Yes, my dear fellow; she is anxious to be the wife of the procureur-général. I certainly owed poor Vanel that slight concession, and I am a gainer by it; since I, at the same time, can confer a pleasure on his wife.”
Aramis walked straight up to Fouquet, and took hold of his hand. “Do you know,” he said, very calmly, “the name of Madame Vanel’s new lover?”
“Ah! she has a new lover, then? I was not aware of it; no, I have no idea what his name is.”
“His name is M. Jean-Baptiste Colbert; he is intendant of the finances: he lives in the Rue Croix des Petits-Champs, where Madame de Chevreuse has been this evening to take him Mazarin’s letters, which she wishes to sell.”
“Gracious Heaven!” murmured Fouquet, passing his hand across his forehead, from which the perspiration was starting.
“You now begin to understand, do you not?”
“That I am utterly lost!—yes.”
“Do you now think it worth while to be so scrupulous with regard to keeping your word?”
“Yes,” said Fouquet.
“These obstinate people always contrive matters in such a way, that one cannot but admire them all the while,” murmured Aramis.
Fouquet held out his hand to him, and, at the very moment, a richly ornamented tortoiseshell clock, supported by golden figures, which was standing on a console table opposite to the fireplace, struck six. The sound of a door being opened in the vestibule was heard, and Gourville came to the door of the cabinet to inquire if Fouquet would received M. Vanel. Fouquet turned his eyes from the gaze of Aramis, and then desired that M. Vanel should be shown in.
189
Monsieur Colbert’s Rough Draft
Vanel, who entered at this stage of the conversation, was nothing less for Aramis and Fouquet than the full stop which completes a phrase. But, for Vanel, Aramis’s presence in Fouquet’s cabinet had quite another signification; and, therefore, at his first step into the room, he paused as he looked at the delicate yet firm features of the bishop of Vannes, and his look of astonishment soon became one of scrutinizing attention. As for Fouquet, a perfect politician, that is to say, complete master of himself, he had already, by the energy of his own resolute will, contrived to remove from his face all traces of the emotion which Aramis’s revelation had occasioned. He was no longer, therefore, a man overwhelmed by misfortune and reduced to resort to expedients; he held his head proudly erect, and indicated by a gesture that Vanel could enter. He was now the first minister of the state, and in his own palace. Aramis knew the superintendent well; the delicacy of the feelings of his heart and the exalted nature of his mind no longer surprised him. He confined himself, then, for the moment—intending to resume later an active part in the conversation—to the performance of the difficult part of a man who looks on and listens, in order to learn and understand. Vanel was visibly overcome, and advanced into the middle of the cabinet, bowing to everything and everybody. “I am here,” he said.
“You are punctual, Monsieur Vanel,” returned Fouquet.
“In matters of business, Monseigneur,” replied Vanel, “I look upon exactitude as a virtue.”
“No doubt, Monsieur.”
“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Aramis, indicating Vanel with his finger, but addressing himself to Fouquet; “this is the gentleman, I believe, who has come about the purchase of your appointment?”
“Yes, I am,” replied Vanel, astonished at the extremely haughty tone in which Aramis had put the question; “but in what way am I to address you, who do me the honor—”
“Call me Monseigneur,” replied Aramis, dryly. Vanel bowed.
“Come, gentlemen, a truce to these ceremonies; let us proceed to the matter itself.”
“Monseigneur sees,” said Vanel, “that I am waiting your pleasure.”
“On the contrary, I am waiting,” replied Fouquet.
“What for, may I be permitted to ask, Monseigneur?”
“I thought that you had perhaps something to say.”
Oh
, said Vanel to himself, he has reflected on the matter and I am lost.
But resuming his courage, he continued, “No, Monseigneur, nothing, absolutely nothing more than what I said to you yesterday, and which I am again ready to repeat to you now.”
“Come, now,
