s XIV. regretted so deeply not
hearing as he passed, and dying away behind him.

"He is not precisely a king, as you fancy," said Anne of Austria to her
son; "he is only a man who is much too rich--that is all."

Whilst saying these words, a bitter feeling gave to these words of the
queen a most hateful expression; whereas the brow of the king, calm and
self-possessed, on the contrary, was without the slightest wrinkle. He
nodded, therefore, familiarly to Fouquet, whilst he continued to unfold
the paper given to him by the usher. Fouquet perceived this movement,
and with a politeness at once easy and respectful, advanced towards the
queen, so as not to disturb the king. Louis had opened the paper, and
yet he did not read it. He listened to Fouquet paying the most charming
compliments to the queen upon her hand and arm. Anne of Austria's frown
relaxed a little, she even almost smiled. Fouquet perceived that the
king, instead of reading, was looking at him; he turned half round,
therefore, and while continuing his conversation with the queen, faced
the king.

"You know, Monsieur Fouquet," said Louis, "how ill M. Mazarin is?"

"Yes, sire, I know that," said Fouquet; "in fact, he is very ill. I was
at my country-house of Vaux when the news reached me; and the affair
seemed so pressing that I left at once."

"You left Vaux this evening, monsieur?"

"An hour and a half ago, yes, your majesty," said Fouquet, consulting a
watch, richly ornamented with diamonds.

"An hour and a half!" said the king, still able to restrain his anger,
but not to conceal his astonishment.

"I understand you, sire. Your majesty doubts my word, and you have
reason to do so, but I have really come in that time, though it is
wonderful! I received from England three pairs of very fast horses, as
I had been assured. They were placed at distances of four leagues apart,
and I tried them this evening. They really brought me from Vaux to
the Louvre in an hour and a half, so your majesty sees I have not been
cheated." The queen-mother smiled with something like secret envy. But
Fouquet caught her thought. "Thus, madame," he promptly said, "such
horses are made for kings, not for subjects; for kings ought never to
yield to any one in anything."

The king looked up.

"And yet," interrupted Anne of Austria, "you are not a king, that I know
of, M. Fouquet."

"Truly not, madame; therefore the horses only await the orders of his
majesty to enter the r