The Man in the Iron Mask
The Last Supper.
The had no of the departure, for he was a dinner to his friends. From the to the top of the house, the of the dishes, and the of the registres, an in offices and kitchen. D’Artagnan, with his order in his hand, presented himself at the offices, when he was told it was too late to pay cash, the was closed. He only replied: “On the king’s service.”
The clerk, a little put out by the air of the captain, replied, that “that was a very reason, but that the of the house were likewise; and that, in consequence, he the to call again next day.” D’Artagnan asked if he not see M. Fouquet. The that M. le did not with such details, and closed the door in the captain’s face. But the had this stroke, and his the door and the door-case, so that the lock did not catch, and the was still nose to nose with his interlocutor. This him his tone, and say, with politeness, “If to speak to M. le surintendant, he must go to the ante-chambers; these are the offices, where comes.”
“Oh! very well! Where are they?” D’Artagnan.
“On the other of the court,” said the clerk, to be free. D’Artagnan the court, and in with a of servants.
“Monseigneur sees nobody at this hour,” he was answered by a a dish, in which were three and twelve quails.
“Tell him,” said the captain, of the by the end of his dish, “that I am M. d’Artagnan, captain of his majesty’s musketeers.”
The a of surprise, and disappeared; D’Artagnan him slowly. He just in time to meet M. Pelisson in the ante-chamber: the latter, a little pale, came out of the dining-room to learn what was the matter. D’Artagnan smiled.
“There is nothing unpleasant, Monsieur Pelisson; only a little order to the money for.”
“Ah!” said Fouquet’s friend, more freely; and he took the captain by the hand, and, him him, him into the dining-room, where a number of friends the surintendant, in the center, and in the of a fauteuil. There were assembled all the Epicureans who so at Vaux had done the of the of and money in of M. Fouquet. Joyous friends, for the most part faithful, they had not their protector at the approach of the storm, and, in of the heavens, in of the earth, they there, smiling, cheerful, as in as they had been in prosperity. On the left of the sat Madame de Belliere; on his right was Madame Fouquet; as if the laws of the world, and all of to silence, the two protecting of this man to offer, at the moment of the crisis, the support of their arms. Madame de Belliere was pale, trembling, and full of for la surintendante, who, with one hand on her husband’s, was looking the door by which Pelisson had gone out to D’Artagnan. The captain entered at full of courtesy, and of admiration, when, with his glance, he had as well as taken in the of every face. Fouquet himself up in his chair.
“Pardon me, Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said he, “if I did not myself you when in the king’s name.” And he the last with a of firmness, which the of all his friends with terror.
“Monseigneur,” D’Artagnan, “I only come to you in the king’s name to payment of an order for two hundred pistoles.”
The clouds passed from every but that of Fouquet, which still overcast.
“Ah! then,” said he, “perhaps you also are setting out for Nantes?”
“I do not know I am setting out, monseigneur.”
“But,” said Madame Fouquet, from her fright, “you are not going so soon, le capitaine, as not to do us the to take a seat with us?”
“Madame, I should that a great done me, but I am so pressed for time, that, you see, I have been to permit myself to your to payment of my note.”
“The reply to which shall be gold,” said Fouquet, making a to his intendant, who out with the order D’Artagnan him.
“Oh!” said the latter, “I was not about the payment; the house is good.”
A painful passed over the of Fouquet.
“Are you in pain?” asked Madame de Belliere.
“Do you your attack on?” asked Madame Fouquet.
“Neither, thank you both,” said Fouquet.
“Your attack?” said D’Artagnan, in his turn; “are you unwell, monseigneur?”
“I have a fever, which me after the at Vaux.”
“Caught cold in the grottos, at night, perhaps?”
“No, no; nothing but agitation, that was all.”
“The too much you in your of the king,” said La Fontaine, quietly, without that he was a sacrilege.
“We cannot too much to the of our king,” said Fouquet, mildly, to his poet.
“Monsieur meant to say the too great ardor,” D’Artagnan, with perfect and much amenity. “The is, monseigneur, that was as at Vaux.”
Madame Fouquet permitted her to that if Fouquet had himself well the king, the king had done the like to the minister. But D’Artagnan the terrible secret. He alone with Fouquet it; those two men had not, the one the to complain, the other the right to accuse. The captain, to the two hundred were brought, was about to take his leave, when Fouquet, rising, took a of wine, and ordered one to be to D’Artagnan.
“Monsieur,” said he, “to the health of the king, may happen.”
“And to your health, monseigneur, may happen,” said D’Artagnan.
He bowed, with these of omen, to all the company, who rose as soon as they the of his and at the of the stairs.
“I, for a moment, it was I and not my money he wanted,” said Fouquet, to laugh.
“You!” his friends; “and what for, in the name of Heaven!”
“Oh! do not yourselves, my dear in Epicurus,” said the superintendent; “I do not wish to make a the most on the earth, and the God we adore, but remember, he gave one day to his friends a which is called the Last Supper, and which was nothing but a dinner, like that which we are making at this moment.”
A painful of from all parts of the table. “Shut the doors,” said Fouquet, and the disappeared. “My friends,” Fouquet, his voice, “what was I formerly? What am I now? Consult among yourselves and reply. A man like me when he not continue to rise. What shall we say, then, when he sinks? I have no more money, no more credit; I have no longer anything but powerful enemies, and powerless friends.”
“Quick!” Pelisson. “Since you with such frankness, it is our to be frank, likewise. Yes, you are ruined—yes, you are to your ruin—stop. And, in the place, what money have we left?”
“Seven hundred thousand livres,” said the intendant.
“Bread,” Madame Fouquet.
“Relays,” said Pelisson, “relays, and fly!”
“Whither?”
“To Switzerland—to Savoy—but fly!”
“If flies,” said Madame Belliere, “it will be said that he was guilty—was afraid.”
“More than that, it will be said that I have away twenty millions with me.”
“We will up to you,” said La Fontaine. “Fly!”
“I will remain,” said Fouquet. “And, besides, not me?”
“You have Belle-Isle,” the Abbe Fouquet.
“And I am naturally going there, when going to Nantes,” the superintendent. “Patience, then, patience!”
“Before at Nantes, what a distance!” said Madame Fouquet.
“Yes, I know that well,” Fouquet. “But what is to be done there? The king me to the States. I know well it is for the purpose of me; but to to go would be to uneasiness.”
“Well, I have the means of everything,” Pelisson. “You are going to set out for Nantes.”
Fouquet looked at him with an air of surprise.
“But with friends; but in your own as as Orleans; in your own as as Nantes; always to yourself, if you are attacked; to escape, if you are threatened. In fact, you will your money against all chances; and, flying, you will only have the king; then, the sea, when you like, you will for Belle-Isle, and from Belle-Isle you will shoot out it may you, like the that into space when it has been from its eyrie.”
A Pelisson’s words. “Yes, do so,” said Madame Fouquet to her husband.
“Do so,” said Madame de Belliere.
“Do it! do it!” all his friends.
“I will do so,” Fouquet.
“This very evening?”
“In an hour?”
“Instantly.”
“With seven hundred thousand you can the of another fortune,” said the Abbe Fouquet.
“What is there to prevent our at Belle-Isle?”
“And, if necessary, we will go and a new world,” added La Fontaine, with fresh and enthusiasm.
A at the door this of and hope. “A from the king,” said the master of the ceremonies.
A ensued, as if the message by this was nothing but a reply to all the birth to a moment before. Every one waited to see what the master would do. His was with perspiration, and he was from his at that instant. He passed into his cabinet, to the king’s message. There prevailed, as we have said, such a in the chambers, and the attendance, that from the dining-room be the voice of Fouquet, saying, “That is well, monsieur.” This voice was, however, by fatigue, and with emotion. An after, Fouquet called Gourville, who the the expectation. At length, he himself re-appeared among his guests; but it was no longer the same pale, they had when he left them; from he had livid; and from spiritless, annihilated. A breathing, specter, he with his arms out, his mouth parched, like a that comes to the friends of days. On him thus, every one out, and every one Fouquet. The latter, looking at Pelisson, upon his wife, and pressed the hand of the Marquise de Belliere.
“Well,” said he, in a voice which had nothing in it.
“What has happened, my God!” said some one to him.
Fouquet opened his right hand, which was clenched, but with perspiration, and a paper, upon which Pelisson a glance. He read the lines, by the king’s hand:
“‘DEAR AND WELL-BELOVED MONSIEUR FOUQUET,—Give us, upon that which you have left of ours, the of seven hundred thousand livres, of which we in need to prepare for our departure.
“‘And, as we know your health is not good, we pray God to you, and to have you in His keeping. “‘LOUIS.
“‘The present is to as a receipt.’”
A of terror through the apartment.
“Well,” Pelisson, in his turn, “you have that letter?”
“Received it, yes!”
“What will you do, then?”
“Nothing, since I have it.”
“But—”
“If I have it, Pelisson, I have paid it,” said the surintendant, with a that to the of all present.
“You have paid it!” Madame Fouquet. “Then we are ruined!”
“Come, no words,” Pelisson. “Next to money, life. Monseigneur, to horse! to horse!”
“What, us!” at once the women, wild with grief.
“Eh! monseigneur, in saving yourself, you save us all. To horse!”
“But he cannot himself on. Look at him.”
“Oh! if he takes time to reflect—” said the Pelisson.
“He is right,” Fouquet.
“Monseigneur! Monseigneur!” Gourville, up the stairs, four steps at once. “Monseigneur!”
“Well! what?”
“I escorted, as you desired, the king’s with the money.”
“Yes.”
“Well! when I at the Palais Royal, I saw—”
“Take breath, my friend, take breath; you are suffocating.”
“What did you see?” the friends.
“I saw the on horseback,” said Gourville.
“There, then!” every voice at once; “there, then! is there an to be lost?”
Madame Fouquet downstairs, calling for her horses; Madame de Belliere after her, her in her arms, and saying: “Madame, in the name of his safety, do not anything, do not alarm.”
Pelisson ran to have the put to the carriages. And, in the meantime, Gourville in his all that the friends were able to into it of gold and silver—the last offering, the to by poverty. The surintendant, along by some, by others, was up in his carriage. Gourville took the reins, and the box. Pelisson supported Madame Fouquet, who had fainted. Madame de Belliere had more strength, and was well paid for it; she Fouquet’s last kiss. Pelisson easily this by saying that an order from the king had the minister to Nantes.
