The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandre Dumas (read 50 shades of grey .txt) 📗

to be waiting for orders, with feverish impatience, his sword between his legs. It appeared strange to Fouquet that MM. Brienne, Rose, and de Saint-Aignan, in general so attentive and obsequious, should scarcely take the least notice, as he, the surintendant, passed. But how could he expect to find it otherwise among courtiers, he whom the king no longer called anything but Fouquet? He raised his head, determined to look every one and everything bravely in the face, and entered the king’s apartment, where a little bell, which we already know, had already announced him to his majesty.

The king, without rising, nodded to him, and with interest: “Well! how are you, Monsieur Fouquet?” said he.

“I am in a high fever,” replied the surintendant; “but I am at the king’s service.”

“That is well; the States assemble to-morrow; have you a speech ready?”

Fouquet looked at the king with astonishment. “I have not, sire,” replied he; “but I will improvise one. I am too well acquainted with affairs to feel any embarrassment. I have only one question to ask; will your majesty permit me?”

“Certainly. Ask it.”

“Why did not your majesty do his first minister the honor of giving him notice of this in Paris?”

“You were ill; I was not willing to fatigue you.”

“Never did a labor—never did an explanation fatigue me, sire; and since the moment is come for me to demand an explanation of my king—”

“Oh, Monsieur Fouquet! an explanation? An explanation, pray, of what?”

“Of your majesty’s intentions with respect to myself.”

The king blushed. “I have been calumniated,” continued Fouquet, warmly, “and I feel called upon to adjure the justice of the king to make inquiries.”

“You say all this to me very uselessly, Monsieur Fouquet; I know what I know.”

“Your majesty can only know the things that have been told to you; and I, on my part, have said nothing to you, whilst others have spoken many, many times—”

“What do you wish to say?” said the king, impatient to put an end to this embarrassing conversation.

“I will go straight to the facts, sire; and I accuse a certain man of having injured me in your majesty’s opinion.”

“Nobody has injured you, Monsieur Fouquet.”

“That reply proves to me, sire, that I am right.”

“Monsieur Fouquet, I do not like people to be accused.”

“Not when one is accused?”

“We have already spoken too much about this affair.”

“Your majesty will not allow me to justify myself?”

“I repeat that I do not accuse you.”

Fouquet, with a half-bow, made a step backward. “It is certain,” thought he, “that he has made up his mind. He alone who cannot go back can show such obstinacy. Not to see the danger now would be to be blind indeed; not to shun it would be stupid.” He resumed aloud, “Did your majesty send for me on business?”

“No, Monsieur Fouquet, but for some advice I wish to give you.”

“I respectfully await it, sire.”

“Rest yourself, Monsieur Fouquet, do not throw away your strength; the session of the States will be short, and when my secretaries shall have closed it, I do not wish business to be talked of in France for a fortnight.”

“Has the king nothing to say to me on the subject of this assembly of the States?”

“No, Monsieur Fouquet.”

“Not to me, the surintendant of the finances?”

“Rest yourself, I beg you; that is all I have to say to you.”

Fouquet bit his lips and hung his head. He was evidently busy with some uneasy thought. This uneasiness struck the king. “Are you angry at having to rest yourself, M. Fouquet?” said he.

“Yes, sire, I am not accustomed to take rest.”

“But you are ill; you must take care of yourself.”

“Your majesty spoke just now of a speech to be pronounced to-morrow.”

His majesty made no reply; this unexpected stroke embarrassed him. Fouquet felt the weight of this hesitation. He thought he could read danger in the eyes of the young prince, which fear would but precipitate. “If I appear frightened, I am lost,” thought he.

The king, on his part, was only uneasy at the alarm of Fouquet. “Has he a suspicion of anything?” murmured he.

“If his first word is severe,” again thought Fouquet; “if he becomes angry, or feigns to be angry for the sake of a pretext, how shall I extricate myself? Let us smooth the declivity a little. Gourville was right.”

“Sire,” said he, suddenly, “since the goodness of the king watches over my health to the point of dispensing with my labor, may I not be allowed to be absent from the council of to-morrow? I could pass the day in bed, and will entreat the king to grant me his physician, that we may endeavor to find a remedy against this fearful fever.”

“So be it, Monsieur Fouquet, it shall be as you desire; you shall have a holiday to-morrow, you shall have the physician, and shall be restored to health.”

“Thanks!” said Fouquet, bowing. Then, opening his game: “Shall I not have the happiness of conducting your majesty to my residence of Belle-Isle?”

And he looked Louis full in the face, to judge of the effect of such a proposal. The king blushed again.

“Do you know,” replied he, endeavoring to smile, “that you have just said, ‘My residence of Belle-Isle’?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Well! do you not remember,” continued the king in the same cheerful tone, “that you gave me Belle-Isle?”

“That is true again, sire. Only, as you have not taken it, you will doubtless come with me and take possession of it.”

“I mean to do so.”

“That was, besides, your majesty’s intention as well as mine; and I cannot express to your majesty how happy and proud I have been to see all the king’s regiments from Paris to help take possession.”

The king stammered out that he did not bring the musketeers for that alone.

“Oh, I am convinced of that,” said Fouquet, warmly; “your majesty knows very well that you have nothing to do but to come alone with a cane in your hand, to bring to the ground all the fortifications of Belle-Isle.”