Part 32

— And then other insignificant orders, such as these: "Guard the castle; guard every lodging; allow no guard of M. de Gesvres to take post." From M. de Gesvres, your friend.

— And for me, cried Fouquet, what orders?

— For you, my lord, not a single word.

— Monsieur d'Artagnan, it is a matter of saving my honor and my life, perhaps! You would not deceive me?

— I!... and to what end? Are you threatened? Only, there is, touching the carriages and the boats, an order...

— An order?

— Yes; but one that could not concern you. A simple police measure.

— Which, captain? which?

— It is to prevent all horses or boats from leaving Nantes without a safe-conduct signed by the king.

— Great God! but...

D'Artagnan began to laugh.

— That will only be put in execution after the king's arrival at Nantes; thus, you see well, my lord, that the order concerns you in no way.

Fouquet became thoughtful, and D'Artagnan pretended not to notice his preoccupation.

— For me to confide to you the tenor of the orders I was given, it is necessary that I love you and that I care to prove to you that none is directed against you.

— No doubt, said Fouquet distractedly.

— Let us recapitulate, said the captain with a glance charged with insistence: Special and strict guard of the castle in which you will have your lodging, is it not? Do you know this castle?... Ah! my lord, a true prison! Total absence of M. de Gesvres, who has the honor of being among your friends... Closing of the city gates and the river, save one pass, but only when the king shall have come... Do you know well, Monsieur Fouquet, that if, instead of speaking to a man like you, who are one of the first in the kingdom, I spoke to a troubled, anxious conscience, I should compromise myself forever? A fine opportunity for anyone who wished to slip away! No police, no guards, no orders; the water free, the road open, M. d'Artagnan obliged to lend his horses if asked! All this should reassure you, Monsieur Fouquet; for the king would not have left me thus independent if he had had ill designs. In truth, Monsieur Fouquet, ask me anything that may be agreeable to you: I am at your disposal; and only, if you consent, you will do me a service; that of wishing good day to Aramis and Porthos, in case you embark for Belle-Île, as you have the right to do, without delay, straightaway, in your dressing gown, just as you are.

At these words, and with a profound bow, the musketeer, whose eyes had lost nothing of their intelligent kindness, left the apartment and disappeared.

He was not yet at the steps of the vestibule when Fouquet, beside himself, threw himself upon the bell-cord and cried:

— My horses! my barge!

No one answered.

The superintendent dressed himself in all he found to hand.

— Gourville!... Gourville!... he cried as he slipped his watch into his pocket.

And the bell jangled again, while Fouquet repeated:

— Gourville!... Gourville!...

Gourville appeared, panting, pale.

— Let us go! let us go! cried the superintendent as soon as he saw him.

— It is too late! said the friend of poor Fouquet.

— Too late! why?

— Listen!

One heard trumpets and a drumbeat before the castle.

— What then, Gourville?

— The king who arrives, my lord.

— The king?

— The king, who has burned up stage after stage; the king, who has burst his horses and advances eight hours ahead of your reckoning.

— We are lost! murmured Fouquet. Brave d'Artagnan, go! you spoke to me too late!

The king was arriving, in fact, in the city; soon one heard the cannon of the rampart and that of a vessel answering from the foot of the river.

Fouquet frowned, called his valets and had himself dressed in ceremonial attire.

From his window, behind the curtains, he saw the eagerness of the people and the movement of a great troop that had followed the prince without one being able to guess how.

The king was conducted to the castle in great pomp, and Fouquet saw him dismount beneath the portcullis and speak low into the ear of d'Artagnan, who held the stirrup.

D'Artagnan, the king having passed under the vault, directed himself toward Fouquet's house, but so slowly, so slowly, stopping so many times to speak to his musketeers, ranged in a line, that one would have said he was counting the seconds or the steps before accomplishing his errand.

Fouquet opened the window to speak to him in the courtyard.

— Ah! cried d'Artagnan on perceiving him, you are still at home, my lord.

And that *still* sufficed to prove to M. Fouquet how much instruction and useful counsel the musketeer's first visit had contained.

The superintendent contented himself with sighing.

— My God, yes, sir, he replied; the king's arrival interrupted me in the plans I had.

— Ah! you know the king has just arrived?

— I saw him, yes, sir; and, this time, you come from him?...

— To inquire after your health, my lord, and, if your health is not too poor, to beg you to do me the favor of coming to the castle.

— This very step, Monsieur d'Artagnan, this very step.

— Ah! well! said the captain, now that the king is there, there is no more walking for anyone, no more free will; the orders govern now, you as me, me as you.

Fouquet sighed one last time, mounted into his carriage, so great was his weakness, and proceeded to the castle, escorted by d'Artagnan, whose politeness was no less frightful this time than it had formerly been consoling and gay.

Chapter CCXLV — How King Louis XIV Played His Little Part

As Fouquet descended from his carriage to enter the castle of Nantes, a man of the people approached him with every sign of the greatest respect and handed him a letter.

D'Artagnan would have prevented this man from addressing Fouquet, and drew him away, but the message had been delivered to the superintendent. Fouquet broke the seal and read the letter; at that moment, a vague dread that d'Artagnan easily penetrated painted itself upon the features of the first minister.

M. Fouquet put the paper into the portfolio he carried under his arm, and continued his way toward the king's apartments.

D'Artagnan, through the small windows pierced at each story of the donjon, saw, as he mounted behind Fouquet, the man of the note look about him upon the square and make signs to several persons who disappeared into the adjacent streets, after themselves repeating those signs made by the personage we have indicated.

Fouquet was made to wait a moment upon that terrace of which we have spoken, a terrace that led to the little corridor after which the king's cabinet had been established.

D'Artagnan then passed before the superintendent, whom, until then, he had respectfully accompanied, and entered the royal cabinet.

— Well? asked him Louis XIV, who, on perceiving him, threw upon the table covered with papers a large green cloth.

— The order is executed, Sire.

— And Fouquet?

— The superintendent follows me, replied d'Artagnan.

— In ten minutes, he will be introduced to me, said the king, dismissing d'Artagnan with a gesture.

The latter went out, and, scarcely arrived in the corridor at the end of which Fouquet awaited him, was recalled by the king's little bell.

— He did not seem astonished? asked the king.

— Who, Sire?

— *Fouquet*, repeated the king without saying monsieur, a particularity that confirmed the captain of the musketeers in his suspicions.

— No, Sire, he replied.

— Good.

And, for the second time, Louis sent d'Artagnan away.

Fouquet had not left the terrace where he had been left by his guide; he reread his note, worded thus:

"Something is being plotted against you. Perhaps they will not dare at the castle; it would be on your return home. The lodging is already surrounded by the musketeers. Do not enter it; a white horse awaits you behind the esplanade."

M. Fouquet had recognized the handwriting and the zeal of Gourville. Not wishing that, should misfortune befall him, this paper might compromise a faithful friend, the superintendent busied himself with tearing this note into thousands of pieces scattered to the wind beyond the balustrade of the terrace.

D'Artagnan surprised him, watching the last crumbs flutter in space.

— Monsieur, said he, the king awaits you.

Fouquet walked with a deliberate step into the little corridor where MM. de Brienne and Rose were at work, while the duke of Saint-Aignan, seated upon a small chair, also in the corridor, seemed to await orders and yawned with a feverish impatience, his sword between his legs.

It seemed strange to Fouquet that MM. de Brienne, Rose and de Saint-Aignan, ordinarily so attentive, so obsequious, scarce stirred when he, the superintendent, passed. But how should he have found otherwise among courtiers, he whom the king no longer called but Fouquet?

He raised his head, and, well resolved to brave all to his face, entered the king's presence after a little bell already known had announced him to His Majesty.

The king, without rising, made him a sign with his head, and, with interest:

— Eh! how are you, Monsieur Fouquet? said he.

— I am in my fit of fever, replied the superintendent, but wholly at the king's service.

— Good; the Estates assemble tomorrow: have you a speech ready?

Fouquet looked at the king with astonishment.

— I have none, Sire, said he; but I shall improvise one. I know affairs thoroughly enough not to be at a loss. I have but one question to put: Will Your Majesty permit it?

— Proceed.

— Why did Your Majesty not do the honor to his first minister of warning him in Paris?

— You were ill; I would not fatigue you.

— Never does work, never an explanation fatigue me, Sire, and, since the moment has come for me to ask an explanation of my king...

— Oh! Monsieur Fouquet! and upon what an explanation?

— Upon the intentions of Your Majesty toward me.

The king reddened.

— I have been calumniated, replied Fouquet quickly, and I must provoke the king's justice to inquiries.

— You tell me that quite uselessly, Monsieur Fouquet; I know what I know.

— Your Majesty cannot know things save if they have been told you, and I have told you nothing, while others have spoken many and many a time to...

— What would you say? said the king, impatient to close this embarrassing conversation.

— I go straight to the point, Sire, and I accuse a man of harming me with Your Majesty.

— No one harms you, Monsieur Fouquet.

— That reply, Sire, proves to me I was right.

— Monsieur Fouquet, I do not like accusations.

— When one is accused!

— We have already spoken too much of this affair.

— Your Majesty does not wish me to justify myself?

— I repeat to you that I do not accuse you.

Fouquet stepped back with a half-bow.

"It is certain," thought he, "that he has taken a course. He alone who cannot retreat has such obstinacy. Not to see the danger at this moment would be to be blind; not to avoid it would be to be stupid."

He resumed aloud:

— Your Majesty asked me for a work?

— No, Monsieur Fouquet, for a counsel I have to give you.

— I await it respectfully, Sire.

— Rest yourself, Monsieur Fouquet; spend not your strength further: the session of the Estates will be short, and, when my secretaries have closed it, I will have no more affairs spoken of for a fortnight in France.

— The king has nothing to say to me touching this assembly of the Estates?

— No, Monsieur Fouquet.

— To me, superintendent of finances?

— Rest yourself, I pray you; that is all I have to say to you.

Fouquet bit his lips and lowered his head. He was evidently brooding some anxious thought.

This anxiety infected the king.

— Are you vexed to have to rest, Monsieur Fouquet? said he.

— Yes, Sire, I am not accustomed to repose.

— But you are ill; you must take care of yourself.

— Your Majesty spoke to me of a speech to pronounce tomorrow?

The king did not answer; this abrupt question had just embarrassed him.

Fouquet felt the weight of this hesitation. He believed he read in the eyes of the young prince a danger that would precipitate his distrust.

"If I seem afraid," thought he, "I am lost."

The king, for his part, was uneasy only at this distrust of Fouquet.

— Has he got wind of something? he murmured.

"If his first word is harsh," thought Fouquet again, "if he grows or feigns irritation to take a pretext, how shall I extricate myself? Let us soften the slope. Gourville was right."

— Sire, said he suddenly, since the king's goodness watches over my health to the point of dispensing me from all work, shall I not be free of the council for tomorrow? I would employ that day in keeping my bed, and I would ask the king to yield me his physician to try a remedy against these accursed fevers.

— Be it as you desire, Monsieur Fouquet. You shall have leave for tomorrow, you shall have the physician, you shall have health.

— Thanks, said Fouquet, bowing.

Then, taking his part:

— Shall I not have, said he, the happiness of conducting the king to Belle-Île, to my home?

And he looked Louis full in the face to judge the effect of such a proposition.

The king reddened again.

— You know, replied he, trying to smile, that you just said: *To Belle-Île, my home?*

— It is true, Sire.

— Well! does it not recall to you, continued the king in the same playful tone, that you gave me Belle-Île?

— That too is true, Sire. Only, as you have not taken it, you will come take possession.

— I am willing.

— It was, besides, the intention of Your Majesty as much as mine, and I cannot tell Your Majesty how happy and proud I was in seeing all the king's military household come from Paris for this taking of possession.

The king stammered that he had not brought his musketeers for that alone.

— Oh! I think so well, said Fouquet quickly; Your Majesty knows too well that it suffices for him to come alone, cane in hand, to make all the fortifications of Belle-Île fall.

— Peste! cried the king, I will not have them fall, those fine fortifications that cost so dear to raise. No! let them remain against the Dutch and the English. What I want to see at Belle-Île, you would not guess, Monsieur Fouquet: it is the fair peasant women, girls and wives, of the lands or the shores, who dance so well and are so seductive with their scarlet skirts! I have been much praised of your vassals, Monsieur the superintendent. Come, show them to me.

— When Your Majesty wishes.

— Have you some means of transport? It would be tomorrow if you would.

The superintendent felt the blow, which was not adroit, and he answered:

— No, Sire: I was ignorant of Your Majesty's desire, I was ignorant above all of his haste to see Belle-Île, and I have taken no precaution.

— You have a boat of your own, however?

— I have five; but they are all, either at Le Port, or at Paimbœuf, and, to rejoin them or have them arrive, it takes at least four-and-twenty hours. Need I send a courier? must I have him go?

— Wait yet; let the fever finish; wait until tomorrow.

— It is true... Who knows if tomorrow we shall not have a thousand other ideas? replied Fouquet, henceforth beyond doubt and very pale.

The king started and stretched his hand toward his bell; but Fouquet anticipated him.

— Sire, said he, I have the fever; I tremble with cold. If I remain a moment longer, I am capable of fainting. I ask Your Majesty's permission to go hide beneath the covers.

— Indeed, you shiver; it is grievous to see. Go, Monsieur Fouquet, go. I will send to inquire after your health.

— Your Majesty overwhelms me. In an hour, I shall find myself much better.

— I wish someone to reconduct you, said the king.

— As you please; I would willingly take the arm of someone.

— Monsieur d'Artagnan! cried the king, ringing his bell.

— Oh! Sire, interrupted Fouquet, laughing with an air that chilled the prince, you give me a captain of musketeers to conduct me to my lodging? An equivocal honor, Sire! A simple footman, I pray you.

— And why, Monsieur Fouquet? M. d'Artagnan reconducts me well, I!

— Yes; but, when he reconducts you, Sire, it is to obey you, whereas I...

— Well?

— I, if I must return home with your chief of musketeers, they will say you are having me arrested.

— Arrested? repeated the king, who paled more than Fouquet himself, arrested? oh!...

— Eh? what is not said! pursued Fouquet, still laughing; and I wager there would be found folk malicious enough to laugh at it?

This sally disconcerted the monarch. Fouquet was clever or fortunate enough that Louis XIV recoiled before the appearance of the deed he meditated.

M. d'Artagnan, when he appeared, received the order to designate a musketeer to accompany the superintendent.

— Useless, said the latter then: sword for sword, I like Gourville as well, who awaits me below. But that will not prevent me from enjoying the society of M. d'Artagnan. I am glad he should see Belle-Île, he who knows fortifications so well.

D'Artagnan bowed, understanding nothing more of the scene.

Fouquet saluted again, and went out affecting all the slowness of a man who takes a walk.

Once outside the castle:

— I am saved! said he. Oh! yes, you shall see Belle-Île, disloyal king, but when I am no longer there.

And he disappeared.

D'Artagnan had remained with the king.

— Captain, said His Majesty to him, you will follow M. Fouquet at a hundred paces.

— Yes, Sire.

— He returns home. You will go to his home.

— Yes, Sire.

— You will arrest him in my name, and shut him in a carriage.

— In a carriage? Very well.

— In such a way that he cannot, on the road, either converse with someone, or throw notes to the people he meets.

— Oh! that is difficult, Sire.

— No.

— Pardon, Sire; I cannot smother M. Fouquet, and, if he asks to breathe, I shall not go prevent him by closing windows and shutters. He will throw through the doors all possible cries and notes.

— The case is foreseen, Monsieur d'Artagnan; a carriage with a grating will obviate the two inconveniences you signal.

— A carriage with an iron grating? cried d'Artagnan. But one does not make an iron grating for a carriage in half an hour, and Your Majesty recommends me to go straightaway to M. Fouquet's.

— Also the carriage in question is wholly made.

— Ah! that is different, said the captain. If the carriage is wholly made, very well, one has only to send it.

— It is wholly harnessed.

— Ah!

— And the coachman, with the outriders, waits in the lower court of the castle.

D'Artagnan bowed.

— There remains for me, added he, but to ask the king in what place M. Fouquet will be conducted.

— To the castle of Angers, first.

— Very well.

— We shall see afterward.

— Yes, Sire.

— Monsieur d'Artagnan, a last word: you have remarked that, to make this seizure of Fouquet, I employ not my guards, at which M. de Gesvres will be furious.

— Your Majesty employs not his guards, said the captain somewhat humiliated, because he distrusts M. de Gesvres. That is it!

— That is to tell you, sir, that I have confidence in you.

— I know it well, Sire! and it is useless to make much of it.

— It is only to arrive at this, sir, that from this moment, should it happen that, by chance, some chance whatsoever, M. Fouquet escaped... one has seen such chances, sir...

— Oh! Sire, very often, but for others, not for me.

— Why not for you?

— Because I, Sire, had an instant wished to save M. Fouquet.

The king shuddered.

— Because, continued the captain, I had the right, having divined the plan of Your Majesty without her having spoken to me of it, and finding M. Fouquet interesting. Now I was free to show my interest to that man.

— In truth, sir, you do not reassure me as to your services!

— Had I saved him then, I had been perfectly innocent: I say more, I had done well, for M. Fouquet is not a wicked man. But he would not; his destiny carried him away; he let the hour of liberty flee. So much the worse! Now, I have orders, I shall obey those orders, and M. Fouquet, you may consider him as an arrested man. He is at the castle of Angers, M. Fouquet.

— Oh! you do not hold him yet, captain!

— That concerns me; to each his trade, Sire; only, again, reflect. Do you seriously give the order to arrest M. Fouquet, Sire?

— Yes, a thousand times yes!

— Then write it.

— Here is the letter.

D'Artagnan read it, saluted the king and went out.

From the top of the terrace, he perceived Gourville who passed with a joyful air, and directed himself toward M. Fouquet's house.

Chapter CCXLVI — The White Horse and the Black Horse

"This is surprising," said the captain to himself, "Gourville very joyful and running the streets, when it is almost certain that M. Fouquet is in danger; when it is almost certain that it is Gourville who warned M. Fouquet by the note of a moment ago, that note which was torn in a thousand pieces upon the terrace, and given to the winds by the superintendent.

"Gourville rubs his hands, it is that he has just done some clever thing. Whence comes Gourville?

"Gourville comes from the rue aux Herbes. Where does the rue aux Herbes go?"

And d'Artagnan followed, upon the roof-tops of Nantes dominated by the castle, the line traced by the streets, as he would have done upon a topographical plan; only instead of dead and flat paper, empty and deserted, the living map rose in relief with movements, the cries and shadows of men and things.

Beyond the enclosure of the city, the great verdant plains spread, bordering the Loire, and seemed to run toward the empurpled horizon, slashed by the azure of the waters and the blackish green of the marshes.

Immediately after the gates of Nantes, two white roads rose diverging like the spread fingers of a gigantic hand.

D'Artagnan, who had embraced the whole panorama at a glance in crossing the terrace, was led by the line of the rue aux Herbes to the termination of one of those roads which took its birth beneath the gate of Nantes.

One step more, and he was about to descend the staircase of the terrace to re-enter the donjon, take his grated carriage, and march toward Fouquet's house.

But chance willed that, at the moment of plunging again into the staircase, he was attracted by a moving point that gained ground upon that road.

"What is that?" asked the musketeer of himself. "A horse that runs, a horse escaped no doubt; how he scampers!"

The moving point detached itself from the road, and entered the fields of lucerne.

"A white horse," continued the captain, who had just seen the color stand out luminous upon the dark ground, "and it is mounted; it is some child whose horse is thirsty, and carries him toward the watering-place in diagonal."

These reflections, rapid as lightning, simultaneous with the visual perception, d'Artagnan had already forgotten when he descended the first steps of the staircase.

A few parings of paper strewed the steps and sparkled upon the blackened stone of the stairs.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”