Ten Years Later

by Alexandre Dumas

  Whilst D'Artagnan was returning to Planchet's house, his head aching andbewildered with all that had happened to him, there was passing a sceneof quite a different character, and which, nevertheless is not foreignto the conversation our musketeer had just had with the king; onlythis scene took place out of Paris, in a house possessed by thesuperintendent Fouquet in the village of Saint-Mande. The minister hadjust arrived at this country-house, followed by his principal clerk, whocarried an enormous portfolio full of papers to be examined, andothers waiting for signature. As it might be about five o'clock in theafternoon, the masters had dined: supper was being prepared for twentysubaltern guests. The superintendent did not stop: on alighting from hiscarriage, he, at the same bound, sprang through the doorway, traversedthe apartments and gained his cabinet, where he declared he would shuthimself up to work, commanding that he should not be disturbed foranything but an order from the king. As soon as this order was given,Fouquet shut himself up, and two footmen were placed as sentinels at hisdoor. Then Fouquet pushed a bolt which displaced a panel that walledup the entrance, and prevented everything that passed in this apartmentfrom being either seen or heard. But, against all probability, it wasonly for the sake of shutting himself up that Fouquet shut himself upthus, for he went straight to a bureau, seated himself at it, openedthe portfolio, and began to make a choice amongst the enormous massof papers it contained. It was not more than ten minutes after he hadentered, and taken all the precautions we have described, when therepeated noise of several slight equal knocks struck his ear, andappeared to fix his utmost attention. Fouquet raised his head, turnedhis ear, and listened.

  The strokes continued. Then the worker arose with a slight movement ofimpatience and walked straight up to a glass behind which the blows werestruck by a hand, or by some invisible mechanism. It was a large glasslet into a panel. Three other glasses, exactly similar to it, completedthe symmetry of the apartment. Nothing distinguished that one from theothers. Without doubt, these reiterated knocks were a signal; for, atthe moment Fouquet approached the glass listening, the same noise wasrenewed, and in the same measure. "Oh! oh!" murmured the intendent, withsurprise, "who is yonder? I did not expect anybody to-day." And, withoutdoubt, to respond to that signal, he pulled out a gilded nail near theglass, and shook it thrice. Then returning to his place, and seatinghimself again, "Ma foi! let them wait," said he. And plunging again intothe ocean of papers unrolled before him, he appeared to think of nothingnow but work. In fact with incredible rapidity and marvelous lucidity,Fouquet deciphered the largest papers and most complicated writings,correcting them, annotating them with a pen moved as if by a fever,and the work melting under his hands, signatures, figures, references,became multiplied as if ten clerks--that is to say, a hundred fingersand ten brains had performed the duties, instead of the five fingers andsingle brain of this man. From time to time, only, Fouquet, absorbed byhis work, raised his head to cast a furtive glance upon a clock placedbefore him. The reason of this was, Fouquet set himself a task, andwhen this task was once set, in one hour's work he, by himself, didwhat another would not have accomplished in a day; always certain,consequently, provided he was not disturbed, of arriving at the closein the time his devouring activity had fixed. But in the midst of hisardent labor, the soft strokes upon the little bell placed behind theglass sounded again, hasty, and, consequently, more urgent.

  "The lady appears to be impatient," said Fouquet. "Humph! a calm! Thatmust be the comtesse; but, no, the comtesse is gone to Rambouilletfor three days. The presidente, then? Oh! no, the presidente would notassume such grand airs; she would ring very humbly, then she would waitmy good pleasure. The greatest certainty is, that I do not know whoit can be, but that I know who it cannot be. And since it is not you,marquise, since it cannot be you, deuce take the rest!" And he went onwith his work in spite of the reiterated appeals of the bell. At the endof a quarter of an hour, however, impatience prevailed over Fouquet inhis turn: he might be said to consume, rather than to complete therest of his work; he thrust his papers into his portfolio, and giving aglance at the mirror, whilst the taps continued faster than ever: "Oh!oh!" said he, "whence comes all this racket? What has happened, and whocan the Ariadne be who expects me so impatiently. Let us see!"

  He then applied the tip of his finger to the nail parallel to the onehe had drawn. Immediately the glass moved like a folding-door anddiscovered a secret closet, rather deep, in which the superintendentdisappeared as if going into a vast box. When there, he touched anotherspring, which opened, not a board, but a block of the wall, and he wentout by that opening, leaving the door to shut of itself. Then Fouquetdescended about a score of steps which sank, winding, underground,and came to a long, subterranean passage, lighted by imperceptibleloopholes. The walls of this vault were covered with slabs or tiles,and the floor with carpeting. This passage was under the street itself,which separated Fouquet's house from the Park of Vincennes. At the endof the passage ascended a winding staircase parallel with that by whichFouquet had entered. He mounted these other stairs, entered by meansof a spring placed in a closet similar to that in his cabinet, and fromthis closet an untenanted chamber furnished with the utmost elegance.As soon as he entered, he examined carefully whether the glassclosed without leaving any trace, and, doubtless satisfied withhis observation, he opened by means of a small gold key the triplefastenings of a door in front of him. This time the door opened upona handsome cabinet sumptuously furnished, in which was seated uponcushions a lady of surpassing beauty, who at the sound of the locksprang towards Fouquet. "Ah! good heavens!" cried the latter, startingback with astonishment. "Madame la Marquise de Belliere, you here?"

  "Yes," murmured la marquise. "Yes; it is I, monsieur."

  "Marquise! dear marquise!" added Fouquet, ready to prostrate himself."Ah! my God! how did you come here? And I, to keep you waiting!"

  "A long time, monsieur; yes, a very long time!"

  "I am happy in thinking this waiting has appeared long to you,marquise!"

  "Oh! an eternity, monsieur; oh! I rang more than twenty times. Did younot hear me?"

  "Marquise, you are pale, you tremble."

  "Did you not hear, then, that you were summoned?"

  "Oh, yes; I heard plainly enough, madame; but I could not come. Afteryour rigors and your refusals, how could I dream it was you? If I couldhave had any suspicion of the happiness that awaited me, believe me,madame, I would have quitted everything to fall at your feet, as I do atthis moment."

  "Are we quite alone, monsieur?" asked the marquise, looking round theroom.

  "Oh, yes, madame, I can assure you of that."

  "Really?" said the marquise, in a melancholy tone.

  "You sigh!" said Fouquet.

  "What mysteries! what precautions!" said the marquise, with a slightbitterness of expression; "and how evident it is that you fear the leastsuspicion of your amours to escape."

  "Would you prefer their being made public?"

  "Oh, no; you act like a delicate man," said the marquise, smiling.

  "Come, dear marquise, punish me not with reproaches, I implore you."

  "Reproaches! Have I a right to make you any?"

  "No, unfortunately, no; but tell me, you, who during a year I have lovedwithout return or hope----"

  "You are mistaken--without hope it is true, but not without return."

  "What! for me, of my love! there is but one proof, and that proof Istill want."

  "I am here to bring it, monsieur."

  Fouquet wished to clasp her in his arms, but she disengaged herself witha gesture.

  "You persist in deceiving yourself, monsieur, and never will accept ofme the only thing I am willing to give you--devotion."

  "Ah, then, you do not love me? Devotion is but a virtue, love is apassion."

  "Listen to me, I implore you: I should not have come hither without aserious motive: you are well assured of that, are you not?"

  "The motive is of very little consequence, so that you are but here--sothat
I see you--so that I speak to you!"

  "You are right; the principal thing is that I am here without any onehaving seen me, and that I can speak to you."--Fouquet sank on his kneesbefore her. "Speak! speak, madame!" said he, "I listen to you."

  The marquise looked at Fouquet, on his knees at her feet, and therewas in the looks of the woman a strange mixture of love and melancholy."Oh!" at length murmured she, "would that I were she who has the rightof seeing you every minute, of speaking to you every instant! wouldthat I were she who might watch over you, she who would have no need ofmysterious springs, to summon and cause to appear, like a sylph, the manshe loves, to look at him for an hour, and then see him disappear in thedarkness of a mystery, still more strange at his going out than at hiscoming in. Oh! that would be to live a happy woman!"

  "Do you happen, marquise," said Fouquet, smiling, "to be speaking of mywife?"

  "Yes, certainly, of her I spoke."

  "Well, you need not envy her lot, marquise; of all the women with whomI have any relations, Madame Fouquet is the one I see the least of, andwho has the least intercourse with me."

  "At least, monsieur, she is not reduced to place, as I have done, herhand upon the ornament of a glass to call you to her; at least you donot reply to her by the mysterious, alarming sound of a bell, the springof which comes from I don't know where; at least you have not forbiddenher to endeavor to discover the secret of these communications underpain of breaking off forever your connections with her, as you haveforbidden all who have come here before me, and all who will come afterme."

  "Dear marquise, how unjust you are, and how little do you know what youare doing in thus exclaiming against mystery; it is with mystery alonewe can love without trouble; it is with love without trouble alone thatwe can be happy. But let us return to ourselves, to that devotionof which you were speaking, or rather let me labor under a pleasingdelusion, and believe that this devotion is love."

  "Just now," repeated the marquise, passing over her eyes a hand thatmight have been a model for the graceful contours of antiquity; "justnow I was prepared to speak, my ideas were clear and bold, now I amquite confused, quite troubled; I fear I bring you bad news."

  "If it is to that bad news I owe your presence, marquise, welcome beeven that bad news! or rather, marquise, since you allow that I am notquite indifferent to you, let me hear nothing of the bad news, but speakof yourself."

  "No, no, on the contrary, demand it of me; require me to tell it to youinstantly, and not to allow myself to be turned aside by any feelingwhatever. Fouquet, my friend! it is of immense importance!"

  "You astonish me, marquise; I will even say you almost frighten me. You,so serious, so collected; you who know the world we live in so well. Isit, then important?"

  "Oh! very important."

  "In the first place, how did you come here?"

  "You shall know that presently; but first to something of moreconsequence."

  "Speak, marquise, speak! I implore you, have pity on my impatience."

  "Do you know that Colbert is made intendant of the finances?"

  "Bah! Colbert, little Colbert."

  "Yes, Colbert, little Colbert."

  "Mazarin's factotum?"

  "The same."

  "Well! what do you see so terrific in that, dear marquise? littleColbert is intendant; that is astonishing, I confess, but is notterrific."

  "Do you think the king has given, without a pressing motive, such aplace to one you call a little cuistre?"

  "In the first place, is it positively true that the king has given it tohim?"

  "It is so said."

  "Ay, but who says so?"

  "Everybody."

  "Everybody, that's nobody; mention some one likely to be well informedwho says so."

  "Madame Vanel."

  "Ah! now you begin to frighten me in earnest," said Fouquet, laughing;"if any one is well informed, or ought to be well informed, it is theperson you name."

  "Do not speak ill of poor Marguerite, Monsieur Fouquet, for she stillloves you."

  "Bah! indeed? That is scarcely credible. I thought little Colbert, asyou said just now, had passed over that love, and left the impressionupon it of a spot of ink or a stain of grease."

  "Fouquet! Fouquet! Is this the way you always treat the poor creaturesyou desert?"

  "Why, you surely are not going to undertake the defense of MadameVanel?"

  "Yes, I will undertake it: for, I repeat, she loves you still, and theproof is she saves you."

  "But your interposition, marquise; that is very cunning on her part. Noangel could be more agreeable to me, or could lead me more certainly tosalvation. But, let me ask you do you know Marguerite?"

  "She was my convent friend."

  "And you say that she has informed you that Monsieur Colbert was namedintendant?"

  "Yes, she did."

  "Well, enlighten me, marquise; granted Monsieur Colbert is intendant--sobe it. In what can an intendant, that is to say my subordinate, myclerk, give me umbrage or injure me, even if he is Monsieur Colbert?"

  "You do not reflect, monsieur, apparently," replied the marquise.

  "Upon what?"

  "This: that Monsieur Colbert hates you."

  "Hates me?" cried Fouquet. "Good heavens! marquise, whence do you come?where can you live? Hates me! why all the world hates me, he, of courseas others do."

  "He more than others."

  "More than others--let him."

  "He is ambitious."

  "Who is not, marquise?"

  "'Yes, but with him ambition has no bounds."

  "I am quite aware of that, since he made it a point to succeed me withMadame Vanel."

  "And obtained his end; look at that."

  "Do you mean to say he has the presumption to hope to pass fromintendant to superintendent?"

  "Have you not yourself already had the same fear?"

  "Oh! oh!" said Fouquet, "to succeed with Madame Vanel is one thing, tosucceed me with the king is another. France is not to be purchased soeasily as the wife of a maitre des comptes."

  "Eh! monsieur, everything is to be bought; if not by gold, by intrigue."

  "Nobody knows to the contrary better than you, madame, you to whom Ihave offered millions."

  "Instead of millions, Fouquet, you should have offered me a true, onlyand boundless love: I might have accepted that. So you see, still,everything is to be bought, if not in one way, by another."

  "So, Colbert, in your opinion, is in a fair way of bargaining formy place of superintendent. Make yourself easy on that head, my dearmarquise; he is not yet rich enough to purchase it."

  "But if he should rob you of it?"

  "Ah! that is another thing. Unfortunately, before he can reach me, thatis to say, the body of the place, he must destroy, must make a breach inthe advanced works, and I am devilishly well fortified, marquise."

  "What you call your advanced works are your creatures, are theynot--your friends?"

  "Exactly so."

  "And is M. d'Eymeris one of your creatures?"

  "Yes, he is."

  "Is M. Lyodot one of your friends?"

  "Certainly."

  "M. de Vanin?"

  "M. de Vanin! ah! they may do what they like with him, but----"

  "But----"

  "But they must not touch the others!"

  "Well, if you are anxious they should not touch MM. d'Eymeris andLyodot, it is time to look about you."

  "Who threatens them?"

  "Will you listen to me now?"

  "Attentively, marquise."

  "Without interrupting me?"

  "Speak."

  "Well, this morning Marguerite sent for me."

  "And what did she want with you?"

  "'I dare not see M. Fouquet myself,' said she."

  "Bah! why should she think I would reproach her? Poor woman, she vastlydeceives herself."

  "'See him yourself,' said she, 'and tell him to beware of M. Colbert.'"

  "What! she warned
me to beware of her lover?"

  "I have told you she still loves you."

  "Go on, marquise."

  "'M. Colbert,' she added, 'came to me two hours ago, to inform me he wasappointed intendant.'"

  "I have already told you marquise, that M. Colbert would only be themore in my power for that."

  "Yes, but that is not all: Marguerite is intimate, as you know, withMadame d'Eymeris and Madame Lyodot."

  "I know it."

  "Well, M. Colbert put many questions to her, relative to the fortunes ofthose two gentlemen, and as to the devotion they had for you."

  "Oh, as to those two, I can answer for them; they must be killed beforethey will cease to be mine."

  "Then, as Madame Vanel was obliged to quit M. Colbert for an instant toreceive a visitor, and as M. Colbert is industrious, scarcely was thenew intendant left alone, before he took a pencil from his pocket, andas there was paper on the table, began to make notes."

  "Notes concerning d'Eymeris and Lyodot?"

  "Exactly."

  "I should like to know what those notes were about."

  "And that is just what I have brought you."

  "Madame Vanel has taken Colbert's notes and sent them to me?"

  "No, but by a chance which resembles a miracle, she has a duplicate ofthose notes."

  "How could she get that?"

  "Listen; I told you that Colbert found paper on the table."

  "Yes."

  "That he took a pencil from his pocket."

  "Yes."

  "And wrote upon that paper."

  "Yes."

  "Well, this pencil was a lead-pencil, consequently hard; so it marked inblack upon the first sheet, and in white upon the second."

  "Go on."

  "Colbert, when tearing off the first sheet, took no notice of thesecond."

  "Well?"

  "Well, on the second was to be read what had been written on the first,Madame Vanel read it, and sent for me."

  "Yes, yes."

  "Then, when she was assured I was your devoted friend, she gave me thepaper, and told me the secret of this house."

  "And this paper?" said Fouquet, in some degree of agitation.

  "Here it is, monsieur--read it," said the marquise.

  Fouquet read:

  "Names of the farmers of revenue to be condemned by the Chamber ofJustice: D'Eymeris, friend of M. F.; Lyodot, friend of M. F.; De Vanin,indif."

  "D'Eymeris and Lyodot!" cried Fouquet, reading the paper eagerly again.

  "Friends of M. F.," pointed the marquise with her finger.

  "But what is the meaning of these words: 'To be condemned by the Chamberof Justice'?"

  "Dame!" said the marquise, "that is clear enough, I think. Besides, thatis not all. Read on, read on;" and Fouquet continued,---"The two firstto death, the third to be dismissed, with MM. d'Hautemont and de laVallette, who will only have their property confiscated."

  "Great God!" cried Fouquet, "to death, to death! Lyodot and D'Eymeris.But even if the Chamber of Justice should condemn them to death, theking will never ratify their condemnation, and they cannot be executedwithout the king's signature."

  "The king has made M. Colbert intendant."

  "Oh!" cried Fouquet, as if he caught a glimpse of the abyss that yawnedbeneath his feet, "impossible! impossible! But who passed a pencil overthe marks made by Colbert?"

  "I did. I was afraid the first would be effaced."

  "Oh! I will know all."

  "You will know nothing, monsieur; you despise your enemy too much forthat."

  "Pardon me, my dear marquise; excuse me; yes, M. Colbert is my enemy, Ibelieve him to be so; yes, M. Colbert is a man to be dreaded, I admit.But I! I have time, and as you are here, as you have assured me ofyour devotion, as you have allowed me to hope for your love, as we arealone----"

  "I came here to save you, Monsieur Fouquet, and not to ruin myself,"said the marquise, rising--"therefore, beware!----"

  "Marquise, in truth you terrify yourself too much at least, unless thisterror is but a pretext----"

  "He is very deep, very deep; this M. Colbert: beware!"

  Fouquet, in his turn, drew himself up. "And I?" asked he.

  "And you, you have only a noble heart. Beware! beware!"

  "So?"

  "I have done what was right, my friend, at the risk of my reputation.Adieu!"

  "Not adieu, au revoir!"

  "Perhaps," said the marquise, giving her hand to Fouquet to kiss, andwalking towards the door with so firm a step, that he did not dare tobar her passage. As to Fouquet, he retook, with his head hanging downand a fixed cloud on his brow, the path of the subterranean passagealong which ran the metal wires that communicated from one house tothe other, transmitting, through two glasses, the wishes and signals ofhidden correspondents.

  CHAPTER 55. The Abbe Fouquet