Part 39

— Come! come! said he, it is a stroke of fate, sir; we must not lament thus. Since it did not come to pass, it is because God...

— Be silent, abbé! be silent! cried Fouquet; your excuses are blasphemies. Have that man brought up here, and let him relate the details of the horrible event.

— But, my brother...

— Obey, sir!

The abbé made a sign, and half a minute later the man's steps were heard upon the stairs.

At the same time Gourville appeared behind Fouquet, like the surintendant's guardian angel, pressing a finger to his lips to enjoin him to watch over himself even in the very outbursts of his grief. The minister recovered all the serenity that human strength can place at the disposal of a heart half broken by sorrow. Danicamp appeared.

— Make your report, said Gourville.

— Sir, answered the messenger, we had received the order to carry off the prisoners and to cry: 'Long live Colbert!' as we carried them off.

— To burn them alive, was it not, abbé? interrupted Gourville.

— Yes! yes! the order had been given to Menneville. Menneville knew what was to be done, and Menneville is dead.

This news seemed to reassure Gourville rather than sadden him.

— To burn them alive? repeated the messenger, as though he had doubted that this order, the only one moreover that had been given him, was indeed real.

— But certainly to burn them alive, brutally resumed the abbé.

— Very well, sir, very well, resumed the man, seeking with his eyes upon the countenances of the two speakers what there was of sorrowful or advantageous for him in telling the truth.

— Now, relate, said Gourville.

— The prisoners, continued Danicamp, were therefore to be brought to the Grève, and the furious people wished them burned instead of hanged.

— The people have their reasons, said the abbé; continue.

— But, resumed the man, at the moment when the archers had just been driven back, at the moment when the fire caught in one of the houses of the square destined to serve as a pyre for the guilty, a madman, that demon, that giant of whom I spoke to you, and whom we had been told was the owner of the house in question, aided by a young man who accompanied him, threw from the window those who were stirring up the fire, called for help from the musketeers who were in the crowd, himself leapt from the first floor into the square, and plied his sword so desperately that victory was restored to the archers, the prisoners retaken, and Menneville killed. Once retaken, the condemned were executed in three minutes.

Fouquet, despite his mastery over himself, could not forbear a muffled groan.

— And this man, the owner of the house, resumed the abbé, what is he called?

— I shall not tell you, having been unable to see him; my post had been assigned me in the garden, and I remained at my post; only, someone came to relate the affair to me. I had order, the thing once finished, to come announce to you in all haste how it had ended. According to order, I set off at a gallop, and here I am.

— Very well, sir, we have nothing further to ask of you, said the abbé, more and more cast down as the moment approached to be alone with his brother.

— Were you paid? asked Gourville.

— An advance, sir, answered Danicamp.

— There are twenty pistoles. Go, sir, and forget not always to defend, as on this occasion, the true interests of the king.

— Yes, sir, said the man, bowing and thrusting the money into his pocket.

After which he went out.

Scarcely was he outside than Fouquet, who had remained motionless, advanced with rapid step and found himself between the abbé and Gourville. Both opened their mouths at once to speak.

— No excuses! said he, no recriminations against anyone. Had I not been a false friend, I would have entrusted to no one the care of delivering Lyodot and d'Eymeris. I alone am guilty; to me alone, therefore, the reproaches and the remorse. Leave me, abbé.

— Yet, sir, you will not prevent, answered the latter, that I make search for the wretch who interposed for the service of M. Colbert in this so well prepared affair; for, if it be good policy to love one's friends well, I do not hold it bad to pursue one's enemies with relentless hatred.

— A truce to policy, abbé; leave, I pray you, and let me hear no more of you until further order; it seems to me we have need of much silence and circumspection. You have a terrible example before you. Gentlemen, no reprisals, I forbid it.

— There are no orders, grumbled the abbé, that can prevent me from avenging upon a guilty man the affront done to my family.

— And I, cried Fouquet in that imperative voice which one feels admits of no reply, if you have a thought, a single one, that is not the absolute expression of my will, I shall have you thrown into the Bastille two hours after that thought has manifested itself. Govern yourself accordingly, abbé.

The abbé bowed, blushing.

Fouquet signed to Gourville to follow him, and was already directing his steps toward his study, when the usher announced in a loud voice:

— M. the chevalier d'Artagnan.

— What is it? said Fouquet negligently to Gourville.

— An ex-lieutenant of His Majesty's musketeers, answered Gourville in the same tone.

Fouquet did not even take the trouble to reflect, and resumed his walk.

— Pardon, my lord! then said Gourville; but, I reflect, this brave fellow has left the king's service, and probably comes to draw some quarter of pension or other.

— The devil! said Fouquet; why does he choose his time so ill?

— Permit, my lord, that I say a word of refusal to him then; for he is of my acquaintance, and he is a man whom it is better, in the circumstances wherein we find ourselves, to have for friend than for enemy.

— Answer whatever you will, said Fouquet.

— Eh! my God! said the abbé, full of rancor like a man of the Church, answer that there is no money, above all for the musketeers.

But the abbé had no sooner let fall this imprudent word than the half-open door opened fully and d'Artagnan appeared.

— Eh! M. Fouquet, said he, I knew well there was no money for the musketeers. So I came not to be given any, but rather to be refused. It is done, thank you. I give you good day and go to seek some at M. Colbert's.

And he went out after a rather brisk salute.

— Gourville, said Fouquet, run after that man and bring him back to me.

Gourville obeyed and overtook d'Artagnan on the stairs. D'Artagnan, hearing steps behind him, turned and perceived Gourville.

— Mordioux! my dear sir, said he, these are sorry ways for you men of finance; I come to M. Fouquet's to draw a sum ordered by His Majesty, and I am received there like a beggar come to ask alms, or like a rogue come to steal a piece of plate.

— But you pronounced the name of M. Colbert, dear M. d'Artagnan; you said you were going to M. Colbert's?

— Certainly I am going, were it only to demand satisfaction of the men who would burn houses crying: 'Long live Colbert!'

Gourville pricked up his ears.

— Oh! oh! said he, you allude to what has just passed at the Grève?

— Yes, certainly.

— And wherein can what has just passed concern you?

— How! you ask me wherein it concerns or does not concern me that M. Colbert make a pyre of my house?

— Thus, your house... It is your house they would burn?

— Pardieu!

— The cabaret of the Image-de-Notre-Dame is yours?

— These eight days.

— And you are that brave captain, you are that valiant sword who dispersed those who would burn the condemned?

— My dear M. Gourville, put yourself in my place: I am an agent of public force and a proprietor. As captain, my duty is to see the king's orders fulfilled. As proprietor, my interest is that my house be not burned. I therefore followed at once the laws of interest and of duty in returning MM. Lyodot and d'Eymeris into the hands of the archers.

— Thus it is you who threw a man from the window?

— It is myself, replied d'Artagnan modestly.

— It is you who killed Menneville?

— I had that misfortune, said d'Artagnan, saluting like a man being congratulated.

— It is you, finally, who were the cause that the two condemned were hanged?

— Instead of being burned, yes, sir, and I glory in it. I tore those poor devils from frightful tortures. Do you understand, my dear M. Gourville, that they would have burned them alive? It passes all imagination.

— Go, my dear M. d'Artagnan, go, said Gourville, wishing to spare Fouquet the sight of a man who had just caused him so deep a grief.

— Not so, said Fouquet, who had heard from the door of the antechamber; not so, M. d'Artagnan, come, rather.

D'Artagnan wiped from the pommel of his sword a last bloody trace that had escaped his notice, and re-entered. Then he found himself facing those three men, whose faces bore three very different expressions: on the abbé's, that of anger; on Gourville's, that of stupor; on Fouquet's, that of dejection.

— Pardon, M. le ministre, said d'Artagnan, but my time is counted; I must pass by the intendancy to explain myself with M. Colbert and draw my quarter.

— But, sir, said Fouquet, there is money here.

D'Artagnan, astonished, looked at the surintendant.

— You were answered lightly, sir, I know it, I heard it, said the minister; a man of your merit should be known to all.

D'Artagnan bowed.

— You have a warrant? added Fouquet.

— Yes, sir.

— Give it here, I shall pay you myself; come.

He made a sign to Gourville and the abbé, who remained in the chamber where they were, and led d'Artagnan into his study. Once there:

— How much do they owe you, sir?

— Why, something like five thousand livres, my lord.

— For your arrears of pay?

— For a quarter.

— A quarter of five thousand livres! said Fouquet, fixing on the musketeer a deep gaze; it is then twenty thousand livres a year that the king gives you?

— Yes, my lord, it is twenty thousand livres; do you find that too much?

— I! cried Fouquet, and he smiled bitterly. If I knew men, if I were, instead of a light, inconsequent and vain spirit, a prudent and reflective spirit; if, in a word, I had, like certain persons, known how to arrange my life, you would not receive twenty thousand livres a year, but a hundred thousand, and you would not be with the king, but with me!

D'Artagnan reddened slightly. There is in the manner of giving praise, in the voice of the praiser, in his affectionate accent, so sweet a poison, that the strongest is sometimes intoxicated by it.

The surintendant ended this speech by opening a drawer, from which he took four rolls that he placed before d'Artagnan.

The Gascon broke the edge of one.

— Gold! said he.

— That will burden you less, sir.

— But then, sir, that makes twenty thousand livres.

— No doubt.

— But they owe me only five.

— I would spare you the trouble of calling four times at the intendancy.

— You overwhelm me, sir.

— I do what I ought, M. le chevalier, and I hope you will bear no grudge for my brother's reception. He is a spirit full of bitterness and caprice.

— Sir, said d'Artagnan, believe that nothing would anger me more than an excuse from you.

— I shall therefore make none, and shall content myself with asking you a favor.

— Oh! sir.

Fouquet drew from his finger a diamond of about a thousand pistoles.

— Sir, said he, the stone here was given me by a childhood friend, by a man to whom you have rendered a great service.

Fouquet's voice altered sensibly.

— A service, I! said the musketeer; I have rendered a service to one of your friends?

— You cannot have forgotten it, sir, for it is this very day.

— And this friend was called?...

— M. d'Eymeris.

— One of the condemned?

— Yes, one of the victims... Well! M. d'Artagnan, in favor of the service you rendered him, I pray you accept this diamond. Do that for love of me.

— Sir...

— Accept, I tell you. I am today in a day of mourning; later you may know that; today I have lost a friend; well! I try to find another.

— But, M. Fouquet...

— Farewell, M. d'Artagnan, farewell! cried Fouquet, his heart swelling; or rather, au revoir!

And the minister left his study, leaving in the musketeer's hands the ring and the twenty thousand livres.

— Oh! oh! said d'Artagnan after a moment of dark reflection; do I understand? Mordioux! if I understand, there is a gallant gentleman!... I shall go have that explained by M. Colbert.

And he went out.

Chapter LXIV — Of the notable difference d'Artagnan found between M. the Intendant and Mgr the Surintendant

M. Colbert lived in the rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, in a house that had belonged to Beautru. D'Artagnan's legs made the journey in a small quarter of an hour.

When he arrived at the new favorite's, the court was full of archers and police men who came, either to congratulate him or to excuse themselves, according as he should choose praise or blame. The sense of flattery is instinctive in men of abject condition; they have the faculty for it, as the wild animal has that of hearing or smell. These men, or their chief, had therefore understood that there was a pleasure to give M. Colbert, in reporting to him how his name had been pronounced during the fray.

D'Artagnan presented himself just as the chief of the watch was making his report. D'Artagnan stood near the door, behind the archers.

This officer took Colbert aside, despite his resistance and the frowning of his heavy brows.

— In case, said he, you had truly desired, sir, that the people do justice upon two traitors, it would have been wise to warn us; for, after all, sir, despite our sorrow at displeasing you or crossing your views, we had our orders to execute.

— Triple fool! replied Colbert furiously, shaking his hair, thick and black as a mane, what are you telling me there? What! I should have had, I, the idea of a riot? Are you mad or drunk?

— But, sir, they cried: 'Long live Colbert!' replied the chief of the watch, much moved.

— A handful of conspirators...

— Not so, not so, a mass of people!

— Oh! indeed, said Colbert, brightening, a mass of the people cried: 'Long live Colbert!' Are you quite sure of what you say, sir?...

— One had but to open one's ears, or rather to close them, so terrible were the cries.

— And it was the people, true people?

— Certainly, sir; only, that true people beat us.

— Oh! very well, continued Colbert, wholly absorbed in his thought. Then you suppose it was the people alone who would burn the condemned?

— Oh! yes, sir.

— That is another thing... You resisted well, then?

— We had three men smothered, sir.

— You killed no one, at least?

— Sir, there remained on the ground a few mutineers, one among others who was no ordinary man.

— Who?

— A certain Menneville, upon whom, for long, the police had kept an open eye.

— Menneville! cried Colbert; he who killed, in the rue de la Huchette, an honest man who asked for a fat chicken?

— Yes, sir, it is the same.

— And this Menneville, did he too cry: 'Long live Colbert!'?

— Louder than all the rest; like a madman.

Colbert's brow became cloudy and furrowed. The sort of ambitious halo that lit his face went out like the glow of glowworms crushed in the grass.

— What were you saying then, resumed the disappointed intendant, that the initiative came from the people? Menneville was my enemy; I would have had him hanged, and he knew it well; Menneville belonged to the abbé Fouquet... the whole affair comes from Fouquet; is it not known that the condemned were his childhood friends?

'It is true, thought d'Artagnan, and there are my doubts cleared. I repeat it, M. Fouquet may be what one will, but he is a gallant gentleman.'

— And, pursued Colbert, do you think you are sure this Menneville is dead?

D'Artagnan judged that the moment had come to make his entrance.

— Perfectly, sir, replied he, advancing suddenly.

— Ah! it is you, sir? said Colbert.

— In person, replied the musketeer with his deliberate tone; it seems you had in Menneville a pretty little enemy?

— It is not I, sir, who had an enemy, answered Colbert, it is the king.

'Double brute! thought d'Artagnan, you put on airs and hypocrisy with me...'

— Well! pursued he, I am very happy to have rendered so good a service to the king; will you undertake to tell His Majesty, M. l'intendant?

— What commission do you give me, and what do you charge me to say, sir? Be precise, I pray you, answered Colbert in a shrill voice already charged with hostilities.

— I give you no commission, retorted d'Artagnan with the calm that never abandons mockers. I thought it would be easy for you to announce to His Majesty that it is I who, happening to be there by chance, did justice upon M. Menneville and set things in order.

Colbert opened wide eyes and questioned with a look the chief of the watch.

— Ah! it is quite true, said the latter, that monsieur was our savior.

— Why did you not tell me, sir, that you came to relate that to me? said Colbert enviously; all would have been explained, and better for you than for any other.

— You are mistaken, M. l'intendant; I came not at all to relate that to you.

— It is an exploit, however, sir.

— Oh! said the musketeer carelessly, long habit blunts the mind.

— To what do I owe the honor of your visit, then?

— Simply to this: the king commanded me to come find you.

— Ah! said Colbert, recovering his composure, as he saw d'Artagnan draw a paper from his pocket, it is to ask me for money?

— Precisely, sir.

— Wait, if you please, sir; I am dispatching the watch's report.

D'Artagnan turned on his heels rather insolently, and, finding himself face to face with Colbert after this first turn, he saluted him as Harlequin might have done; then, executing a second evolution, he directed his steps toward the door at a good pace.

Colbert was struck by this vigorous resistance to which he was not accustomed. Ordinarily, men of the sword, when they came to him, had such need of money, that, though their feet should have taken root in the marble, their patience was not exhausted. Was d'Artagnan going straight to the king? was he going to complain of a poor reception or relate his exploit? It was grave matter for reflection.

In any case, the moment was ill chosen to send d'Artagnan away, whether he came from the king or from his own side. The musketeer had rendered too great a service, and too recently, for it to be already forgotten.

So Colbert thought it better to shake off all arrogance and recall d'Artagnan.

— Ho! M. d'Artagnan, cried Colbert, what! you leave me thus?

D'Artagnan turned.

— Why not? said he tranquilly; we have nothing more to say to each other, have we?

— You have at least money to draw, since you have a warrant?

— I? not in the least, my dear M. Colbert.

— But finally, sir, you have a draft! And just as you, you give a sword stroke for the king when required, I pay, I, when an order is presented. Present it.

— Useless, my dear M. Colbert, said d'Artagnan, who enjoyed inwardly the disarray thrown into Colbert's ideas; that draft is paid.

— Paid! by whom?

— Why, by the surintendant.

Colbert grew pale.

— Explain yourself then, said he in a strangled voice; if you are paid, why show me this paper?

— Consequence of the instructions you spoke of so ingeniously just now, dear M. Colbert; the king had told me to draw a quarter of the pension he is pleased to grant me...

— At my house?... said Colbert.

— Not precisely. The king said to me: 'Go to M. Fouquet's: the surintendant will perhaps have no money, then you will go to M. Colbert's.'

Colbert's face cleared for a moment; but it was with his unhappy physiognomy as with the stormy sky, now radiant, now dark as night, according as the lightning shines or the cloud passes.

— And... there was money at the surintendant's? he asked.

— But yes, a good deal of money, replied d'Artagnan... It must be believed, since M. Fouquet, instead of paying me a quarter of five thousand livres...

— A quarter of five thousand livres! cried Colbert, seized as Fouquet had been by the magnitude of a sum destined to pay a soldier's service; that would make twenty thousand livres of pension?

— Just so, M. Colbert. Pest! you reckon like Pythagoras deceased; yes, twenty thousand livres.

— Ten times the salary of an intendant of finances. I compliment you thereon, said Colbert with a venomous smile.

— Oh! said d'Artagnan, the king excused himself for giving me so little; also he promised me to make amends later, when he should be rich... But I finish, being much pressed...

— Yes, and despite the king's expectation, the surintendant paid you?

— As, despite the king's expectation, you refused to pay me, you.

— I did not refuse, sir, I begged you to wait. And you say M. Fouquet paid you your five thousand livres?

— Yes; it is what you would have done, you; and yet, yet... he did better than that, dear M. Colbert.

— And what did he do?

— He politely counted me the whole sum, saying that for the king the coffers were always full.

— The whole sum! M. Fouquet counted you twenty thousand livres instead of five thousand.

— Yes, sir.

— And why that?

— To spare me three visits to the surintendance cashier; therefore, I have the twenty thousand livres there, in my pocket, in very fine brand-new gold. You see then that I can go, having no need whatever of you and having passed here only for form's sake.

And d'Artagnan tapped his pockets laughing, which discovered to Colbert thirty-two magnificent teeth as white as the teeth of five-and-twenty, and which seemed to say in their language: 'Serve us thirty-two little Colberts, and we shall eat them willingly.' The serpent is as brave as the lion, the sparrowhawk as courageous as the eagle, that cannot be contested. There are not even animals called cowardly who are not brave when it is a question of defense. Colbert feared not the thirty-two teeth of d'Artagnan; he stiffened, and suddenly:

— Sir, said he, what M. le surintendant did there, he had not the right to do it.

— How say you? replied d'Artagnan.

— I say that your schedule... Will you show it me, if you please, your schedule?

— Very willingly; here it is.

Colbert seized the paper with an eagerness the musketeer noticed not without unease and above all without a certain regret at having delivered it.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”