The Man in the Iron Mask
A Gascon, and a Gascon and a Half.
D’Artagnan had to no time, and in he was in the of doing so. After having for Aramis, he had looked for him in every direction until he had succeeded in him. Besides, no sooner had the king entered Vaux, than Aramis had retired to his own room, meditating, doubtless, some new piece of attention for his majesty’s amusement. D’Artagnan the to him, and on the second (in a room called the Blue Chamber, on account of the color of its hangings) the of Vannes in company with Porthos and of the modern Epicureans. Aramis came to his friend, and offered him the best seat. As it was after among those present that the was reserved, and for an opportunity for with Aramis, the Epicureans took their leave. Porthos, however, did not stir; for true it is that, having well, he was fast asleep in his armchair; and the of therefore was not by a third person. Porthos had a deep, snore, and people might talk in the of its loud without of him. D’Artagnan that he was called upon to open the conversation.
“Well, and so we have come to Vaux,” he said.
“Why, yes, D’Artagnan. And how do you like the place?”
“Very much, and I like M. Fouquet, also.”
“Is he not a host?”
“No one be more so.”
“I am told that the king by great of manner M. Fouquet, but that his much more afterwards.”
“You did not notice it, then, since you say you have been told so?”
“No; I was with the who have just left the room about the and the which are to take place to-morrow.”
“Ah, indeed! you are the comptroller-general of the here, then?”
“You know I am a friend of all of where the of the is called into activity; I have always been a in one way or another.”
“Yes, I the you used to write, they were charming.”
“I have them, but I am to read the of others, when those others are by the names of Moliere, Pelisson, La Fontaine, etc.”
“Do you know what idea to me this evening, Aramis?”
“No; tell me what it was, for I should be able to it, you have so many.”
“Well, the idea to me, that the true king of France is not Louis XIV.”
“What!” said Aramis, involuntarily, looking the full in the eyes.
“No, it is Monsieur Fouquet.”
Aramis again, and smiled. “Ah! you are like all the rest, jealous,” he said. “I would that it was M. Colbert who that phrase.” D’Artagnan, in order to Aramis off his guard, related Colbert’s with to the de Melun.
“He comes of a race, Colbert,” said Aramis.
“Quite true.”
“When I think, too,” added the bishop, “that that will be your minister four months, and that you will him as as you did Richelieu or Mazarin—”
“And as you M. Fouquet,” said D’Artagnan.
“With this difference, though, that M. Fouquet is not M. Colbert.”
“True, true,” said D’Artagnan, as he to sad and full of reflection; and then, a moment after, he added, “Why do you tell me that M. Colbert will be minister in four months?”
“Because M. Fouquet will have to be so,” Aramis.
“He will be ruined, you mean?” said D’Artagnan.
“Completely so.”
“Why he give these fetes, then?” said the musketeer, in a so full of consideration, and so well assumed, that the was for the moment by it. “Why did you not him from it?”
The part of the phrase was just a little too much, and Aramis’s were again aroused. “It is done with the object of the king.”
“By himself?”
“Yes, by himself for the king.”
“A most eccentric, one might say, calculation, that.”
“Necessity, necessity, my friend.”
“I don’t see that, dear Aramis.”
“Do you not? Have you not M. Colbert’s daily antagonism, and that he is doing his to drive the king to of the superintendent?”
“One must be not to see it.”
“And that a is already against M. Fouquet?”
“That is well known.”
“What is there that the king would join a party against a man who will have he had to him?”
“True, true,” said D’Artagnan, slowly, convinced, yet to another phase of the conversation. “There are follies, and follies,” he resumed, “and I do not like those you are committing.”
“What do you to?”
“As for the banquet, the ball, the concert, the theatricals, the tournaments, the cascades, the fireworks, the illuminations, and the presents—these are well and good, I grant; but why were not these sufficient? Why was it necessary to have new and for your whole household?”
“You are right. I told M. Fouquet that myself; he replied, that if he were rich he would offer the king a newly chateau, from the at the houses to the very sub-cellars; new and out; and that, as soon as the king had left, he would the whole and its contents, in order that it might not be use of by any one else.”
“How Spanish!”
“I told him so, and he then added this: ‘Whoever me to expense, I shall look upon as my enemy.’”
“It is positive madness; and that portrait, too!”
“What portrait?” said Aramis.
“That of the king, and the as well.”
“What surprise?”
“The you to have in view, and on account of which you took some away, when I met you at Percerin’s.” D’Artagnan paused. The was discharged, and all he had to do was to wait and watch its effect.
“That is an act of attention,” Aramis.
D’Artagnan up to his friend, took of his hands, and looking him full in the eyes, said, “Aramis, do you still for me a very little?”
“What a question to ask!”
“Very good. One favor, then. Why did you take some patterns of the king’s at Percerin’s?”
“Come with me and ask Lebrun, who has been upon them for the last two days and nights.”
“Aramis, that may be truth for else, but for me—”
“Upon my word, D’Artagnan, you me.”
“Be a little considerate. Tell me the exact truth; you would not like anything to to me, would you?”
“My dear friend, you are incomprehensible. What can you have possibly got of?”
“Do you in my feelings? Formerly you used to have in them. Well, then, an tells me that you have some project on foot.”
“I—a project?”
“I am of it.”
“What nonsense!”
“I am not only sure of it, but I would it.”
“Indeed, D’Artagnan, you me the pain. Is it likely, if I have any project in hand that I ought to keep from you, I should tell you about it? If I had one that I and ought to have revealed, should I not have long ago it?”
“No, Aramis, no. There are which are until the opportunity arrives.”
“In that case, my dear fellow,” returned the bishop, laughing, “the only thing now is, that the ‘opportunity’ has not yet arrived.”
D’Artagnan his with a expression. “Oh, friendship, friendship!” he said, “what an word you are! Here is a man who, if I were but to ask it, would himself to be cut in pieces for my sake.”
“You are right,” said Aramis, nobly.
“And this man, who would every of blood in his for me, will not open up me the least in his heart. Friendship, I repeat, is nothing but an shadow—a lure, like else in this bright, world.”
“It is not thus you should speak of our friendship,” the bishop, in a firm, voice; “for ours is not of the same nature as those of which you have been speaking.”
“Look at us, Aramis; three out of the old ‘four.’ You are me; I you; and Porthos is fast asleep. An of friends, don’t you think so? What an of the dear old times!”
“I can only tell you one thing, D’Artagnan, and I it on the Bible: I love you just as I used to do. If I you, it is on account of others, and not on account of either of us. In I may do, and should to succeed in, you will your fourth. Will you promise me the same favor?”
“If I am not mistaken, Aramis, your words—at the moment you them—are full of feeling.”
“Such a thing is very possible.”
“You are against M. Colbert. If that be all, mordioux, tell me so at once. I have the in my own hand, and will out the tooth easily enough.”
Aramis not a of that over his features. “And that I were against Colbert, what would there be in that?”
“No, no; that would be too a for you to take in hand, and it was not on that account you asked Percerin for those patterns of the king’s costumes. Oh! Aramis, we are not enemies, remember—we are brothers. Tell me what you wish to undertake, and, upon the word of a D’Artagnan, if I cannot help you, I will to neuter.”
“I am nothing,” said Aramis.
“Aramis, a voice me speaks and to a of light my darkness: it is a voice that has yet me. It is the king you are against.”
“The king?” the bishop, to be annoyed.
“Your will not me; the king, I repeat.”
“Will you help me?” said Aramis, ironically.
“Aramis, I will do more than help you—I will do more than neuter—I will save you.”
“You are mad, D’Artagnan.”
“I am the of the two, in this matter.”
“You to me of to the king!”
“Who spoke of such a thing?” the musketeer.
“Well, let us one another. I do not see what any one can do to a king as ours is, if he not him.” D’Artagnan did not say a word. “Besides, you have your and your here,” said the bishop.
“True.”
“You are not in M. Fouquet’s house, but in your own.”
“True; but in of that, Aramis, me, for pity’s sake, one single word of a true friend.”
“A true friend’s word is truth itself. If I think of touching, with my finger, the son of Anne of Austria, the true king of this of France—if I have not the of myself his throne—if in every idea I may to-morrow, here at Vaux, will not be the most day my king enjoyed—may Heaven’s blast me where I stand!” Aramis had these with his the of his own bedroom, where D’Artagnan, seated with his the alcove, not that any one was concealed. The of his words, the slowness with which he them, the of his oath, gave the the most complete satisfaction. He took of Aramis’s hands, and them cordially. Aramis had without pale, and had as he to of praise. D’Artagnan, deceived, did him honor; but D’Artagnan, and reliant, him ashamed. “Are you going away?” he said, as he him, in order to the on his face.
“Yes. Duty me. I have to the watch-word. It I am to be in the king’s ante-room. Where Porthos sleep?”
“Take him away with you, if you like, for he through his nose like a park of artillery.”
“Ah! he not with you, then?” said D’Artagnan.
“Not the least in the world. He has a to himself, but I don’t know where.”
“Very good!” said the musketeer; from this of the two his last suspicion, and he touched Porthos on the shoulder; the by a loud yawn. “Come,” said D’Artagnan.
“What, D’Artagnan, my dear fellow, is that you? What a lucky chance! Oh, yes—true; I have forgotten; I am at the at Vaux.”
“Yes; and your dress, too.”
“Yes, it was very on the part of Monsieur Coquelin de Voliere, was it not?”
“Hush!” said Aramis. “You are walking so you will make the give way.”
“True,” said the musketeer; “this room is above the dome, I think.”
“And I did not choose it for a fencing-room, I you,” added the bishop. “The of the king’s room has all the and of sleep. Do not forget, therefore, that my is the of his ceiling. Good night, my friends, and in ten minutes I shall be asleep myself.” And Aramis them to the door, laughing all the while. As soon as they were outside, he the door, hurriedly; closed up the of the windows, and then called out, “Monseigneur!—monseigneur!” Philippe his from the alcove, as he pushed a the bed.
“M. d’Artagnan a great many suspicions, it seems,” he said.
“Ah!—you M. d’Artagnan, then?”
“Before you called him by his name, even.”
“He is your captain of musketeers.”
“He is very to me,” Philippe, a upon the personal pronoun.
“As as a dog; but he sometimes. If D’Artagnan not you the other has disappeared, upon D’Artagnan to the end of the world; for in that case, if he has nothing, he will keep his fidelity. If he sees, when it is too late, he is a Gascon, and will admit that he has been deceived.”
“I so. What are we to do, now?”
“Sit in this folding-chair. I am going to push a of the flooring; you will look through the opening, which to one of the false in the of the king’s apartment. Can you see?”
“Yes,” said Philippe, starting as at the of an enemy; “I see the king!”
“What is he doing?”
“He to wish some man to close to him.”
“M. Fouquet?”
“No, no; wait a moment—”
“Look at the notes and the portraits, my prince.”
“The man the king to in his presence is M. Colbert.”
“Colbert in the king’s presence!” Aramis. “It is impossible.”
“Look.”
Aramis looked through the opening in the flooring. “Yes,” he said. “Colbert himself. Oh, monseigneur! what can we be going to hear—and what can result from this intimacy?”
“Nothing good for M. Fouquet, at all events.”
The did not himself.
We have that Louis XIV. had sent for Colbert, and Colbert had arrived. The them by the king according to him one of the that he had done; it was true the king was alone with his subject. “Colbert,” said he, “sit down.”
The intendant, overcome with delight, for he he was about to be dismissed, this honor.
“Does he accept?” said Aramis.
“No, he standing.”
“Let us listen, then.” And the king and the to the they under their feet, to them when they liked.
“Colbert,” said the king, “you have me to-day.”
“I know it, sire.”
“Very good; I like that answer. Yes, you it, and there was in the doing of it.”
“I ran the of your majesty, but I risked, also, the of your best interests.”
“What! you were of something on my account?”
“I was, sire, if it were nothing more than an indigestion,” said Colbert; “for people do not give their such as the one of to-day, unless it be to them the of good living.” Colbert the this would produce upon the king; and Louis XIV., who was the and the most man in his kingdom, Colbert the joke.
“The truth is,” he said, “that M. Fouquet has me too good a meal. Tell me, Colbert, where he all the money for this expenditure,—can you tell?”
“Yes, I do know, sire.”
“Will you be able to prove it with certainty?”
“Easily; and to the farthing.”
“I know you are very exact.”
“Exactitude is the in an of finances.”
“But all are not so.”
“I thank you for so a from your own lips.”
“M. Fouquet, therefore, is rich—very rich, and I every man he is so.”
“Every one, sire; the as well as the dead.”
“What that mean, Monsieur Colbert?”
“The are of M. Fouquet’s wealth,—they and the result produced; but the dead, and than we are, know how that was obtained—and they up in accusation.”
“So that M. Fouquet his to some or other.”
“The of an very often those who it.”
“You have something to say to me more confidentially, I perceive; do not be afraid, we are alone.”
“I am of anything under the of my own conscience, and under the protection of your majesty,” said Colbert, bowing.
“If the dead, therefore, were to speak—”
“They do speak sometimes, sire,—read.”
“Ah!” Aramis, in the prince’s ear, who, close him, without a syllable, “since you are here, monseigneur, in order to learn your of a king, to a piece of infamy—of a nature royal. You are about to be a of one of those which the alone and executes. Listen attentively,—you will your in it.”
The his attention, and saw Louis XIV. take from Colbert’s hands a the out to him.
“The late cardinal’s handwriting,” said the king.
“Your has an excellent memory,” Colbert, bowing; “it is an for a king who is for hard work to at the glance.”
The king read Mazarin’s letter, and, as its are already to the reader, in of the Madame de Chevreuse and Aramis, nothing would be learned if we them here again.
“I do not understand,” said the king, interested.
“Your has not the of the public accounts.”
“I see that it to money that had been to M. Fouquet.”
“Thirteen millions. A good sum.”
“Yes. Well, these thirteen millions are wanting to the total of the account. That is what I do not very well understand. How was this possible?”
“Possible I do not say; but there is no about that it is so.”
“You say that these thirteen millions are to be wanting in the accounts?”
“I do not say so, but the does.”
“And this of M. Mazarin the of that and the name of the person with it was deposited?”
“As your can judge for yourself.”
“Yes; and the result is, then, that M. Fouquet has not yet the thirteen millions.”
“That results from the accounts, certainly, sire.”
“Well, and, consequently—”
“Well, sire, in that case, as M. Fouquet has not yet the thirteen millions, he must have them to his own purpose; and with those thirteen millions one four times and a little more as much expense, and make four times as great a display, as your was able to do at Fontainebleau, where we only three millions altogether, if you remember.”
For a blunderer, the he had was a piece of baseness; for by the of his own he, for the time, its with that of Fouquet. Colbert again at Vaux what Fouquet had him at Fontainebleau, and, as a good financier, returned it with the best possible interest. Having once the king’s mind in this way, Colbert had nothing of much to him. He that such was the case, for the king, too, had again into a and state. Colbert the from the king’s with as much as Philippe and Aramis did from their place of observation.
“Are you aware what is the and natural of all this, Monsieur Colbert?” said the king, after a moments’ reflection.
“No, sire, I do not know.”
“Well, then, the of the of the thirteen millions, if it can be proved—”
“But it is so already.”
“I if it were to be and certified, M. Colbert.”
“I think it will be to-morrow, if your majesty—”
“Were we not under M. Fouquet’s roof, you were going to say, perhaps,” the king, with something of in his demeanor.
“The king is in his own he may be—especially in houses which the money has constructed.”
“I think,” said Philippe in a low to Aramis, “that the who planned this ought, the use it be put to at a opportunity, so to have that it might be to upon the of such as M. Colbert.”
“I think so too,” Aramis; “but M. Colbert is so very near the king at this moment.”
“That is true, and that would open the succession.”
“Of which your would all the advantage, monseigneur. But stay, let us keep quiet, and go on listening.”
“We shall not have long to listen,” said the prince.
“Why not, monseigneur?”
“Because, if I were king, I should make no reply.”
“And what would you do?”
“I should wait until to-morrow to give myself time for reflection.”
Louis XIV. at last his eyes, and Colbert waiting for his next remarks, said, hastily, the conversation, “M. Colbert, I it is very late, and I shall now retire to bed. By to-morrow I shall have up my mind.”
“Very good, sire,” returned Colbert, incensed, although he himself in the presence of the king.
The king a of adieu, and Colbert with a bow. “My attendants!” the king; and, as they entered the apartment, Philippe was about to his post of observation.
“A moment longer,” said Aramis to him, with his of manner; “what has just now taken place is only a detail, and to-morrow we shall have no occasion to think anything more about it; but the of the king’s retiring to rest, the in the king, that is of the importance. Learn, sire, and study well how you ought to go to of a night. Look! look!”
