Fouquet rose from his seat, passed his arm round d’Artagnan’s neck, and clasped him in a close embrace, whilst 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 anyone else.”
D’Artagnan bowed to the 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?”
“I do not know.”
“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, I understand it very well.”
“Do you suppose that, with anyone 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 towards anyone 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 gone yet, 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 amiss, 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 the plan?”
“It makes me shudder.”
“I thought you would not like it. It would have been very disagreeable to have made my appearance tomorrow, without any preparation, and to have asked you to deliver up your sword.”
“Oh! Monsieur, I should have died of 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 should arrange your thoughts; I beg you, therefore, go to sleep, or pretend to go to sleep, either on your bed, or in your bed; I will sleep in this armchair; and when I fall asleep, my rest is so sound that a cannon would not wake me.”
Fouquet smiled. “I expect, however,” continued the musketeer, “the case of a door being opened, whether a secret door, or any other; or the case of anyone going out of, or coming into, the room—for anything like that my ear is as quick and sensitive as the ear of a mouse. Creaking noises make 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 and make me ill.”
“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
