CHAPTER 59
A Quarter of an Hour's Delay
Fouquet, on leaving his house for the second time that day,
felt himself less heavy and less disturbed than might have
been expected. He turned towards Pellisson, who was
meditating in the corner of the carriage some good arguments
against the violent proceedings of Colbert.
"My dear Pellisson," said Fouquet, "it is a great pity you
are not a woman."
"I think, on the contrary, it is very fortunate," replied
Pellisson, "for, monseigneur, I am excessively ugly."
"Pellisson! Pellisson!" said the superintendent, laughing:
"you repeat too often you are `ugly,' not to leave people to
believe that it gives you much pain."
"In fact it does, monseigneur, much pain; there is no man
more unfortunate than I: I was handsome, the smallpox
rendered me hideous; I am deprived of a great means of
attraction; now, I am your principal clerk or something of
that sort; I take great interest in your affairs, and if, at
this moment, I were a pretty woman, I could render you an
important service."
"What?"
"I would go and find the concierge of the Palais. I would
seduce him, for he is a gallant man, extravagantly partial
to women; then I would get away our two prisoners."
"I hope to be able to do so myself, although I am not a
pretty woman," replied Fouquet.
"Granted, monseigneur; but you are compromising yourself
very much."
"Oh!" cried Fouquet, suddenly, with one of those secret
transports which the generous blood of youth, or the
remembrance of some sweet emotion, infuses into the heart.
"Oh! I know a woman who will enact the personage we stand in
need of, with the lieutenant-governor of the conciergerie."
"And, on my part, I know fifty, monseigneur; fifty trumpets,
which will inform the universe of your generosity, of your
devotion to your friends, and, consequently, will ruin you
sooner or later in ruining themselves."
"I do not speak of such women, Pellisson, I speak of a noble
and beautiful creature who joins to the intelligence and wit
of her sex the valor and coolness of ours; I speak of a
woman, handsome enough to make the walls of a prison bow
down to salute her, discreet enough to let no one suspect by
whom she has been sent."
"A treasure!" said Pellisson, "you would make a famous
present to monsieur the governor of the conciergerie! Peste!
monseigneur, he might have his head cut off; but he would,
before dying, have had such happiness as no man had enjoyed
before him."
"And I add," said Fouquet, "that the concierge of the Palais
would not have his head cut off, for he would receive of me
my horses to effect his escape, and five hundred thousand
livres wherewith to live comfortably in England: I add, that
this lady, my friend, would give him nothing but the horses
and the money. Let us go and seek her, Pellisson."
The superintendent reached forth his hand towards the gold
and silken cord placed in the interior of his carriage, but
Pellisson stopped him. "Monseigneur," said he, "you are
going to lose as much time in seeking this lady as Columbus
took to discover the new world. Now, we have but two hours
in which we can possibly succeed; the concierge once gone to
bed, how shall we get at him without making a disturbance?
When daylight dawns, how can we conceal our proceedings? Go,
go yourself, monseigneur, and do not seek either woman or
angel to-night."
"But, my dear Pellisson, here we are before her door."
"What! before the angel's door?"
"Why, yes!"
"This is the hotel of Madame de Belliere!"
"Hush!"
"Ah! Good Lord!" exclaimed Pellisson.
"What have you to say against her?"
"Nothing, alas! and it is that which causes my despair.
Nothing, absolutely nothing. Why can I not, on the contrary,
say ill enough of her to prevent your going to her?"
But Fouquet had already given orders to stop, and the
carriage was motionless. "Prevent me!" cried Fouquet; "why,
no power on earth should prevent my going to pay my
compliments to Madame de Plessis-Belliere, besides, who
knows that we shall not stand in need of her!"
"No, monseigneur no!"
"But I do not wish you to wait for me, Pellisson," replied
Fouquet, sincerely courteous.
"The more reason I should, monseigneur; knowing that you are
keeping me waiting, you will, perhaps, stay a shorter time.
Take care! You see there is a carriage in the courtyard: she
has some one with her." Fouquet leant towards the steps of
the carriage. "One word more," cried Pellisson; "do not go
to this lady till you have been to the concierge, for
Heaven's sake!"
"Eh! five minutes, Pellisson," replied Fouquet, alighting at
the steps of the hotel, leaving Pellisson in the carriage,
in a very ill-humor. Fouquet ran upstairs, told his name to
the footman, which excited an eagerness and a respect that
showed the habit the mistress of the house had of honoring
that name in her family. "Monsieur le surintendant," cried
the marquise, advancing, very pale, to meet him; "what an
honor! what an unexpected pleasure!" said she. Then, in a
low voice, "Take care!" added the marquise, "Marguerite
Vanel is here!"
"Madame," replied Fouquet, rather agitated, "I came on
business. One single word, and quickly, if you please!" And
he entered the salon. Madame Vanel had risen, paler, more
livid, than Envy herself. Fouquet in vain addressed her,
with the most agreeable, most pacific salutation; she only
replied by a terrible glance darted at the marquise and
Fouquet. This keen glance of a jealous woman is a stiletto
which pierces every cuirass; Marguerite Vanel plunged it
straight into the hearts of the two confidants. She made a
courtesy to her friend, a more profound one to Fouquet, and
took leave, under pretense of having a number of visits to
make, without the marquise trying to prevent her, or
Fouquet, a prey to anxiety, thinking further about her. She
was scarcely out of the room, and Fouquet left alone with
the marquise, before he threw himself on his knees, without
saying a word. "I expected you," said the marquise, with a
tender sigh.
"Oh! no," cried he, "or you would have sent away that
woman."
"She has been here little more than half an hour, and I had
no expectation she would come this evening."
"You love me just a little, then, marquise?"
"That is not the question now; it is of your danger; how are
your affairs going on?"
"I am going this evening to get my friends out of the
prisons of the Palais."
"How will you do that?"
"By buying and bribing the governor."
"He is a friend of mine; can I assist you, without injuring
you?"
"Oh! marquise, it would be a signal service; but how can you
be employed without your being compromised? Now, never shall
my life, my power, or even my liberty, be purchased at the
expense of a single tear from your eyes, or of one frown of
pain upon your brow."
"Monseigneur, no more such words, they bewilder me; I have
been culpable in trying to serve you, without calculating
the extent of what I was doing. I love you in reality, as a
tender friend; and as a friend, I am grateful for your
delicate attentions -- but, alas! -- alas! you will never
find a mistress in me."
"Marquise!" cried Fouquet, in a tone of despair; "why not?"
"Because you are too much beloved," said the young woman, in
a low voice; "because you are too much beloved by too many
people -- because the splendor of glory and fortune wound my
eyes, whilst the darkness of sorrow attracts them; because,
in short, I, who have repulsed you in your proud
magnificence; I who scarcely looked at you in your splendor,
I came, like a mad woman, to throw myself, as it were, into
your arms, when I saw a misfortune hovering over your head.
You understand me now, monseigneur? Become happy again, that
I may remain chaste in heart and in thought; your misfortune
entails my ruin."
"Oh! madame," said Fouquet, with an emotion he had never
before felt; "were I to fall to the lowest degree of human
misery, and hear from your mouth that word which you now
refuse me, that day, madame, you will be mistaken in your
noble egotism; that day you will fancy you are consoling the
most unfortunate of men, and you will have said, I love you,
to the most illustrious, the most delighted, the most
triumphant of the happy beings of this world."
He was still at her feet, kissing her hand, when Pellisson
entered precipitately, crying, in very ill-humor,
"Monseigneur! madame! for Heaven's sake! excuse me.
Monseigneur, you have been here half an hour. Oh! do not
both look at me so reproachfully. Madame, pray who is that
lady who left your house soon after monseigneur came in?"
"Madame Vanel," said Fouquet.
"Ha!" cried Pellisson, "I was sure of that."
"Well! what then?"
"Why, she got into her carriage, looking deadly pale."
"What consequence is that to me?"
"Yes, but what she said to her coachman is of consequence to
you."
"Kind heaven!" cried the marquise, "what was that?"
"To M. Colbert's!" said Pellisson, in a hoarse voice.
"Bon Dieu! -- begone, begone, monseigneur!" replied the
marquise, pushing Fouquet out of the salon, whilst Pellisson
dragged him by the hand.
"Am I, then, indeed," said the superintendent, "become a
child, to be frightened by a shadow?"
"You are a giant," said the marquise, "whom a viper is
trying to bite in the heel."
Pellisson continued to drag Fouquet to the carriage. "To the
Palais at full speed!" cried Pellisson to the coachman. The
horses set off like lightning; no obstacle relaxed their
pace for an instant. Only, at the arcade Saint-Jean, as they
were coming out upon the Place de Greve, a long file of
horsemen, barring the narrow passage, stopped the carriage
of the superintendent. There was no means of forcing this
barrier; it was necessary to wait till the mounted archers
of the watch, for it was they who stopped the way, had
passed with the heavy carriage they were escorting, and
which ascended rapidly towards the Place Baudoyer. Fouquet
and Pellisson took no further account of this circumstance
beyond deploring the minute's delay they had thus to submit
to. They entered the habitation of the concierge du Palais
five minutes after. That officer was still walking about in
the front court. At the name of Fouquet, whispered in his
ear by Pellisson, the governor eagerly approached the
carriage, and, hat in his hand, was profuse in his
attentions. "What an honor for me, monseigneur," said he.
"One word, monsieur le gouverneur, will you take the trouble
to get into my carriage?" The officer placed himself
opposite Fouquet in the coach.
"Monsieur," said Fouquet, "I have a service to ask of you."
"Speak, monseigneur."
"A service that will be compromising for you, monsieur, but
which will assure to you forever my protection and my
friendship."
"Were it to cast myself into the fire for you, monseigneur,
I would do it."
"That is well," said Fouquet; "what I require is much more
simple."
"That being so, monseigneur, what is it?"
"To conduct me to the chamber of Messieurs Lyodot and
D'Eymeris."
"Will monseigneur have the kindness to say for what
purpose?"
"I will tell you in their presence, monsieur; at the same
time that I will give you ample means of palliating this
escape."
"Escape! Why, then, monseigneur does not know?"
"What?"
"That Messieurs Lyodot and D'Eymeris are no longer here."
"Since when?" cried Fouquet, in great agitation.
"About a quarter of an hour."
"Whither have they gone, then?"
"To Vincennes -- to the donjon."
"Who took them from here?"
"An order from the king."
"Oh! woe! woe!" exclaimed Fouquet, striking his forehead.
"Woe!" and without saying a single word more to the
governor, he threw himself back in his carriage, despair in
his heart, and death on his countenance.
"Well!" said Pellisson, with great anxiety.
"Our friends are lost. Colbert is conveying them to the
donjon. They crossed our very path under the arcade
Saint-Jean."
Pellisson, struck as by a thunderbolt, made no reply. With a
single reproach he would have killed his master. "Where is
monseigneur going?" said the footman.
"Hone -- to Paris. You, Pellisson, return to Saint-Mande,
and bring the Abbe Fouquet to me within an hour. Begone!"
