to
this question of Porthos. "Why," said he, fixing his eyes upon Aramis,
"on account of two farmers of the revenues, friends of M. Fouquet, whom
the king forced to disgorge their plunder, and then hanged them."

A scarcely perceptible contraction of the prelate's brow showed that he
had heard D'Artagnan's reply.

"Oh, oh!" said Porthos; "and what were the names of these friends of M.
Fouquet?"

"MM. d'Eymeris and Lyodot," said D'Artagnan. "Do you know those names,
Aramis?"

"No," said the prelate, disdainfully; "they sound like the names of
financiers."

"Exactly; so they were."

"Oh! M. Fouquet allows his friends to be hanged, then," said Porthos.

"And why not?" said Aramis. "Why, it seems to me----"

"If these culprits were hanged, it was by order of the king. Now M.
Fouquet, although superintendent of the finances, has not, I believe,
the right of life and death."

"That may be," said Porthos; "but in the place of M. Fouquet----"

Aramis was afraid Porthos was about to say something awkward, so
interrupted him. "Come, D'Artagnan," said he; "this is quite enough
about other people, let us talk a little about you."

"Of me you know all that I can tell you. On the contrary let me hear a
little about you, Aramis."

"I have told you, my friend. There is nothing of Aramis left in me."

"Nor of the Abbe d'Herblay even?"

"No, not even of him. You see a man whom Providence has taken by the
hand, whom he has conducted to a position that he could never have dared
even to hope for."

"Providence?" asked D'Artagnan.

"Yes."

"Well, that is strange! I was told it was M. Fouquet."

"Who told you that?" cried Aramis, without being able, with all the
power of his will, to prevent the color rising to his cheeks.

"Ma foi! why, Bazin!"

"The fool!"

"I do not say he is a man of genius, it is true; but he told me so; and
after him, I repeat it to you."

"I have never seen M. Fouquet," replied Aramis with a look as pure and
calm as that of a virgin who has never told a lie.

"Well, but if you had seen him and known him, there is no harm in that,"
replied D'Artagnan. "M. Fouquet is a very good sort of a man."

"Humph!"

"A great politician." Aramis made a gesture of indifference.

"An all-powerful minister."

"I only hold to the king and the pope."

"Dame! listen then," said D'Artagnan, in the most natural tone
imaginable. "I said that because everybody here swears by M. Fouquet.
The plain is M. F