Part 17

— I do not understand you perfectly.

— Eh! no doubt, he has only been here two years. But today is the 31st of May, and he has not come, and tomorrow is the deadline, at noon. And tomorrow, if I have not paid, those gentlemen, by the terms of the contract, may re-enter the agreement; I shall be stripped bare and shall have worked three years and given two hundred and fifty thousand livres for nothing, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, for absolutely nothing.

— That is curious, murmured d'Artagnan.

— Do you now understand that I might have a furrow on my brow?

— Oh! yes.

— Do you understand that, despite this roundness of cheese and this freshness of a russet apple, despite these eyes bright as live coals, I have come to fear having not even a cheese or a russet apple left to eat, and having nothing but eyes left to weep with?

— It is heartbreaking.

— I have therefore come to you, Monsieur d'Artagnan, for you alone can relieve my trouble.

— How so?

— You know the Abbé d'Herblay?

— Pardieu!

— You know him to be secretive?

— Oh! yes.

— You can give me the address of his presbytery, for I looked at Noisy-le-Sec, and he is no longer there.

— Parbleu! he is Bishop of Vannes.

— Vannes, in Brittany?

— Yes.

The little man began to tear his hair.

— Alas! said he, how to get to Vannes from here by tomorrow at noon?… I am a lost man. Vannes! Vannes! cried Baisemeaux.

— Your despair pains me. Listen then, a bishop does not always reside; Mgr d'Herblay might not be as far as you fear.

— Oh! tell me his address.

— I do not know, my friend.

— Decisively I am lost! I shall go throw myself at the king's feet.

— But, Baisemeaux, you astonish me; how, the Bastille being able to yield fifty thousand livres, did you not turn the screw to make it yield a hundred thousand?

— Because I am an honest man, dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, and my prisoners are fed like potentates.

— Pardieu! there you are well off; give yourself a good indigestion with your fine foods, and burst on me by tomorrow noon.

— Cruel! he has the heart to laugh.

— No, you afflict me… Come, Baisemeaux, have you a word of honor?

— Oh! captain!

— Well! give me your word that you will not open your mouth to anyone about what I am going to tell you.

— Never! never!

— You want to lay hands on Aramis?

— At any price!

— Well! go find M. Fouquet.

— What connection…

— But how dense you are!… Where is Vannes?

— Why…

— Vannes is in the diocese of Belle-Île, or Belle-Île is in the diocese of Vannes. Belle-Île belongs to M. Fouquet: M. Fouquet had M. d'Herblay named to that bishopric.

— You open my eyes and restore me to life.

— So much the better. Go then and simply tell M. Fouquet that you wish to speak with M. d'Herblay.

— True! true! cried Baisemeaux, transported.

— And, said d'Artagnan, stopping him with a severe look, the word of honor?

— Oh! sacred! replied the little man, preparing to run.

— Where are you going?

— To M. Fouquet's.

— Not so, M. Fouquet is at the king's gaming. All you can do is go to M. Fouquet early tomorrow.

— I will go; thank you!

— Good luck!

— Thank you!

— A strange story, murmured d'Artagnan, who, after leaving Baisemeaux, slowly remounted his stairs. What the devil of an interest can Aramis have in thus obliging Baisemeaux? Eh!… we shall know that one day or another.

Chapter XCVI — The King's Gaming

Fouquet was attending, as d'Artagnan had said, the king's gaming.

It seemed that Buckingham's departure had poured balm upon all the hearts ulcerated the evening before.

Monsieur, radiant, made a thousand affectionate signals to his mother.

The Count de Guiche could not separate himself from Buckingham, and, even while playing, conversed with him of the eventualities of his voyage…

Buckingham, dreamy and tender like a man of heart who has made up his mind, listened to the count and from time to time cast upon Madame a look of regret and wild tenderness.

The princess, in the midst of her intoxication, still divided her thoughts between the king, who played with her, Monsieur, who gently rallied her on considerable winnings, and de Guiche, who testified an extravagant joy.

As for Buckingham, she concerned herself lightly with him; for her, this fugitive, this exile, was a memory, no longer a man. Light hearts are made thus; whole to the present, they violently break with all that may disturb their little calculations of egoistic well-being. Madame would have accommodated herself to the smiles, the pretty ways, the sighs of Buckingham present; but from afar, to sigh, to smile, to kneel, what was the use?

The wind of the strait, which carries off heavy ships, where does it sweep away sighs? Who knows?

The duke dissembled not this change; his heart was mortally wounded by it.

A delicate nature, proud and capable of deep attachment, he cursed the day passion had entered his heart. The looks he sent to Madame gradually cooled beneath the icy breath of his thought. He could not yet despise, but he was strong enough to impose silence on the tumultuous cries of his heart. As Madame guessed this change, she redoubled her activity to recover the radiance escaping her; her mind, timid and undecided at first, broke forth in brilliant flashes; it was at all costs that she must be noticed above all, above the king himself. She was. The queens, despite their dignity, the king, despite the respects of etiquette, were eclipsed. The queens, stiff and formal from the outset, humanized and laughed. Madame Henriette, queen mother, was dazzled by this brilliance which returned upon her race, thanks to the wit of the granddaughter of Henri IV. The king, so jealous as a young man, so jealous as a king of all superiorities surrounding him, could not forbear surrendering arms to this French petulance whose English humor still heightened the energy. He was seized like a child by that radiant beauty which wit called forth.

Madame's eyes launched lightning. Gayety escaped her purple lips like persuasion from the lips of old Greek Nestor.

Around the queens and the king, all the court, subjected to these enchantments, perceived for the first time that one might laugh before the greatest king in the world, like people worthy of being called the most polished and most witty in the world.

Madame had, from that evening, a success capable of dizzying whoever had not been born in those elevated regions called a throne and which are sheltered from such vertigos, despite their height. From that moment, Louis XIV regarded Madame as a personage.

Buckingham regarded her as a coquette worthy of the cruellest torments.

De Guiche regarded her as a divinity. The courtiers, as a star whose light must become a focus for all favor, for all power.

Yet Louis XIV, some years before, had not even deigned to give his hand to that plain little thing for a ballet.

Yet Buckingham had adored that coquette upon both knees.

Yet de Guiche had regarded that divinity as a woman.

Yet the courtiers had not dared applaud at the passing of that star for fear of displeasing the king, to whom that star had formerly displeased.

Such was what passed, in that memorable evening, at the king's gaming.

The young queen, though Spanish and niece of Anne of Austria, loved the king and knew not how to dissemble.

Anne of Austria, observant like every woman and imperious like every queen, felt Madame's power and inclined at once.

Which determined the young queen to raise the siege and retire to her rooms.

The king scarce noticed this departure, despite the affected symptoms of indisposition accompanying it.

Strong in the laws of etiquette which he was beginning to introduce at home as an element of all relation, Louis XIV was not moved; he offered his hand to Madame without looking at Monsieur, his brother, and conducted the young princess to the door of her apartment.

It was remarked that, upon the threshold of the door, His Majesty, free of all constraint or weaker than the situation, let escape an enormous sigh.

The women, for they remark all, Mlle de Montalais, for example, failed not to say to their companions:

— The king has sighed.

— Madame has sighed.

It was true.

Madame had sighed without sound, but with an accompaniment far more dangerous to the king's repose.

Madame had sighed closing her beautiful black eyes, then reopened them, and, charged as they were with an unspeakable sadness, raised them upon the king, whose face, at that moment, visibly flushed.

It resulted from this blush, from those exchanged sighs and from all that royal movement, that Montalais had committed an indiscretion, and that this indiscretion had certainly affected her companion, for Mlle de La Vallière, less perspicacious no doubt, paled when the king reddened, and, her service calling her to Madame's, entered all trembling behind the princess, without thinking to take the gloves, as the ceremonial required.

It is true that this provincial might allege as excuse the trouble into which royal majesty threw her. Indeed, Mlle de La Vallière, wholly occupied with closing the door, had involuntarily her eyes fixed upon the king, who walked backwards.

The king re-entered the gaming room; he wished to speak to divers persons but one could see that his mind was not very present. He muddled divers accounts to the profit of divers lords who had retained those habits since M. de Mazarin, poor memory, but good arithmetic.

Thus Manicamp, a distracted person if ever there was one, let not the reader be mistaken, Manicamp, the most honest man in the world, purely and simply picked up twenty thousand livres which trailed upon the carpet and whose property appeared legitimately acquired by no one. Thus M. de Wardes, who had his head a little embarrassed by the affairs of the evening, left sixty double louis that he had won from M. de Buckingham, and which the latter, incapable like his father of soiling his hands with any coin, abandoned to the chandelier, that chandelier though it were alive.

The king recovered a little of his attention only at the moment when M. Colbert, who had been watching for some instants, approached, and, most respectfully no doubt, but with insistence, deposited one of his counsels in the still buzzing ear of His Majesty.

At the council, Louis lent a new attention, and, immediately, casting his looks before him:

— Is it that M. Fouquet, said he, is no longer there?

— Yes indeed, yes indeed, Sire, replied the voice of the superintendent, occupied with Buckingham.

And he approached. The king made a step toward him with a charming and careless air.

— Pardon, Monsieur the Superintendent, if I disturb your conversation, said Louis; but I claim you wherever I have need of you.

— My services are always to the king, replied Fouquet.

— And above all your coffer, said the king laughing a false smile.

— My coffer more even than the rest, said Fouquet coldly.

— Here is the fact, monsieur: I wish to give a fête at Fontainebleau. Fifteen days of open house. I have need of…

He looked obliquely at Colbert. Fouquet awaited without discomposure.

— Of… said he.

— Of four millions, said the king, answering Colbert's cruel smile.

— Four millions? said Fouquet inclining himself profoundly.

And his nails, entering his chest, there traced a bloody furrow without the serenity of his face being altered for a moment.

— Yes, monsieur, said the king.

— When, Sire?

— But… take your time… That is to say… no… as soon as possible.

— It takes time.

— Time! cried Colbert triumphant.

— The time to count the crowns, said the superintendent with a majestic contempt; one draws and weighs but a million a day, monsieur.

— Four days, then, said Colbert.

— Oh! replied Fouquet addressing the king, my clerks perform prodigies for the service of His Majesty. The sum will be ready in three days.

Colbert paled in his turn. Louis looked at him astonished. Fouquet withdrew without bravado, without weakness, smiling upon the numerous friends in whose regard alone he knows a true friendship, an interest extending to compassion.

One must not judge Fouquet by that smile; Fouquet had, in reality, death in his heart.

A few drops of blood stained, beneath his coat, the fine tissue covering his chest.

The coat hid the blood, the smile, the rage. By the fashion in which he approached his carriage, his people guessed that the master was not of joyous humor. It resulted from this understanding that orders were executed with that precision of maneuver found on a warship commanded during the storm by an irritated captain.

The carriage did not roll, it flew.

Scarcely had Fouquet time to collect himself during the passage.

On arriving, he went up to Aramis. Aramis was not yet abed.

As for Porthos, he had supped very properly on a braised leg of mutton, two roasted pheasants and a mountain of crayfish; then he had had his body anointed with perfumed oils, in the fashion of antique wrestlers; then, the unction achieved, he had stretched himself in flannels and had himself transported into a warmed bed.

Aramis, we have said, was not abed. At ease in a velvet dressing gown, he wrote letter upon letter, in that fine and hurried hand of which a page holds a quarter of a volume. The door opened precipitately; the superintendent appeared, pale, agitated, careworn.

Aramis raised his head.

— Good evening, dear host! said he.

And his observant gaze divined all that sadness, all that disorder.

— Fine gaming at the king's? asked Aramis to engage conversation.

Fouquet sat down, and, with a gesture, showed the door to the lackey who had followed him.

Then, when the lackey was gone:

— Very fine! said he.

And Aramis, who followed him with the eye, saw him, with a febrile impatience, stretch upon the cushions.

— You have lost, as always? asked Aramis, pen in hand.

— Worse than always, replied Fouquet.

— But it is known that you bear loss well, you.

— Sometimes.

— Come! M. Fouquet, a poor loser?

— There is gaming and gaming, Monsieur d'Herblay.

— How much have you then lost, my lord? asked Aramis with a certain unease.

Fouquet collected himself a moment to suitably set his voice, and then, without any emotion:

— The evening costs me four millions, said he.

And a bitter laugh was lost upon the last vibration of those words.

Aramis expected not such a figure; he let his pen fall.

— Four millions! said he. You played four millions? Impossible!

— M. Colbert held my cards, answered the superintendent with the same sinister laugh.

— Ah! I understand now, my lord. Thus, new call for funds?

— Yes, my friend.

— By the king?

— From his own mouth. It is impossible to fell a man with a fairer smile.

— The devil!

— What think you of that?

— Pardieu! I think they wish to ruin you: it is clear.

— Thus, it is still your opinion?

— Always. There is nothing there, besides, that should astonish you, since it is what we foresaw.

— Be it; but I did not expect the four millions.

— It is true the sum is heavy; but, finally, four millions are not the death of a man, this is the case to say it, especially when that man is called M. Fouquet.

— If you knew the bottom of the coffer, my dear d'Herblay, you would be less tranquil.

— And you promised?

— What would you have had me do?

— It is true.

— The day I refuse, Colbert will find some; where? I know not; but he will find some and I shall be lost!

— Incontestably. And in how many days have you promised these four millions?

— In three days. The king seems much pressed.

— In three days!

— Oh! my friend, resumed Fouquet, when one thinks that just now, when I passed in the street, people cried: "There goes rich M. Fouquet passing!" In truth, dear d'Herblay, it is enough to lose one's head!

— Oh! no, my lord, halt there! the thing is not worth it, said phlegmatically Aramis, pouring powder upon the letter he had just written.

— Then, a remedy, a remedy for this remediless ill?

— There is but one: pay.

— But scarce have I the sum. All must be exhausted; Belle-Île has been paid; the pension has been paid; money, since the searches of the tax-farmers, is rare. Admitting one pays this time, how shall one pay the next? For, believe it well, we are not at the end! When kings have tasted of money, it is as tigers when they have tasted of flesh: they devour! One day, I must needs say: "Impossible, Sire!" Well! that day, I shall be lost!

Aramis slightly shrugged his shoulders.

— A man in your position, my lord, said he, is lost only when he wishes to be.

— A man, in whatever position he be, cannot struggle against a king.

— Bah! in my youth, I struggled well, I, with Cardinal Richelieu, who was king of France, plus, cardinal!

— Have I armies, troops, treasures? I no longer even have Belle-Île!

— Bah! necessity is the mother of invention. When you believe all lost…

— Well?

— One will discover something unexpected that will save all.

— And who will discover this marvelous something?

— You.

— Me? I resign my commission as inventor.

— Then, I.

— Be it. But then set to work without delay.

— Ah! we have time enough.

— You kill me with your phlegm, d'Herblay, said the superintendent passing his handkerchief over his brow.

— Do you not remember what I told you one day?

— What did you tell me?

— Not to worry yourself, if you have courage. Have you any?

— I believe so.

— Then do not worry yourself.

— Then, it is said, at the supreme moment, you come to my aid, d'Herblay?

— It will be but returning you what I owe you, my lord.

— It is the trade of men of finance to go to meet the needs of men like you, d'Herblay.

— If obligingness is the trade of men of finance, charity is the virtue of men of the Church. Only, this time again, execute yourself, my lord. You are not yet low enough; at the last moment, we shall see.

— We shall see soon, then.

— Be it. Now, permit me to tell you that, personally, I much regret that you are so short of money.

— Why so?

— Because I was about to ask you for some, then!

— For you?

— For me or for my own, for my own or for our own.

— What sum?

— Oh! be easy; a round sum, true, but little exorbitant.

— Say the figure!

— Oh! fifty thousand livres.

— Trifle!

— Truly?

— Doubtless, one always has fifty thousand livres. Ah! why does that scoundrel called M. Colbert not content himself like you, I should be less anxious than I am. And when do you need this sum?

— For tomorrow morning.

— Well, and…

— Ah! it is true, the destination, would you say?

— No, chevalier, no; I have no need of explanation.

— Indeed; it is tomorrow the 1st of June?

— Well?

— Maturity of one of our obligations.

— We have then obligations?

— Doubtless, we pay tomorrow our last third.

— What third?

— Of the hundred fifty thousand livres of Baisemeaux.

— Baisemeaux! Who is that?

— The governor of the Bastille.

— Ah! yes, it is true; you make me pay a hundred fifty thousand francs for that man.

— Come now!

— But to what purpose?

— To purpose of his office which he bought, or rather which we bought from Louvière and Tremblay.

— All that is very vague in my mind.

— I conceive it, you have so many affairs! Yet I believe you have none more important than this.

— Then, tell me to what purpose we bought that office.

— But to be useful to him.

— Ah!

— To him first.

— And then afterwards?

— Afterwards to us.

— How, to us? You jest.

— My lord, there are times when a governor of the Bastille is a very fine acquaintance.

— I have the happiness of not understanding you, d'Herblay.

— My lord, we have our posts, our engineer, our architect, our musicians, our printer, our painters; we needed our governor of the Bastille.

— Ah! you believe so?

— My lord, let us not deceive ourselves; we are much exposed to going to the Bastille, dear Monsieur Fouquet, added the prelate showing, beneath his pale lips, teeth which were still those beautiful teeth adored thirty years before by Marie Michon.

— And you believe it is not too much a hundred fifty thousand livres for that, d'Herblay? I assure you that ordinarily you place your money better.

— A day will come when you will recognize your error.

— My dear d'Herblay, the day one enters the Bastille, one is no longer protected by the past.

— Yes, if the subscribed obligations are in good order; and then, believe me, this excellent Baisemeaux has not a courtier's heart. I am sure he will keep good recollection of this money; not counting, as I tell you, my lord, that I keep the titles.

— What a devil of an affair! Usury in matter of beneficence!

— My lord, my lord, meddle not in all that; if there is usury, it is I who practice it alone; we profit by it, the two of us, that is all.

— Some intrigue, d'Herblay?…

— I say not no.

— And Baisemeaux accomplice.

— And why not? One has worse. Thus I may count tomorrow on the five thousand pistoles?

— Do you want them this evening?

— That would be still better, for I wish to take the road early; this poor Baisemeaux, who knows not what has become of me, is on live coals.

— You shall have the sum in an hour. Ah! d'Herblay, the interest of your hundred fifty thousand francs will never pay my four millions, said Fouquet rising.

— Why not, my lord?

— Good evening! I have business with the clerks before bedding.

— Good night, my lord!

— d'Herblay you wish me the impossible.

— Shall I have my fifty thousand livres this evening?

— Yes.

— Well! sleep on both ears, it is I who tell you. Good night, my lord!

Despite this assurance and the tone in which it was given, Fouquet went out shaking his head and uttering a sigh.

Chapter XCVII — The Small Accounts of M. Baisemeaux de Montlezun

Seven o'clock was striking at Saint-Paul, when Aramis, on horseback, in bourgeois costume, that is to say clothed in colored cloth, having for sole distinction a kind of hunting-knife at his side, passed before the rue du Petit-Musc and came to stop opposite the rue des Tournelles, at the gate of the castle of the Bastille.

Two sentinels guarded that gate. They made no difficulty in admitting Aramis, who entered all on horseback as he was, and conducted him by a gesture through a long passage bordered by buildings to right and left.

This passage led to the drawbridge, that is to say to the true entrance.

The drawbridge was lowered, the service of the place was beginning to be done.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”