ent
agitation of his most intimate confidant.

"There is a secret chamber of justice instituted, monseigneur."

"I know there is, but do the members meet, Gourville?"

"They not only meet, but they have passed a sentence, monseigneur."

"A sentence?" said the superintendent, with a shudder and pallor he
could not conceal. "A sentence!--and on whom?"

"Two of your best friends."

"Lyodot and D'Eymeris, do you mean? But what sort of a sentence?"

"Sentence of death."

"Passed? Oh! you must be mistaken, Gourville; that is impossible."

"Here is a copy of the sentence which the king is to sign to-day, if he
has not already signed it."

Fouquet seized the paper eagerly, read it, and returned it to Gourville.
"The king will never sign that," said he.

Gourville shook his head.

"Monseigneur, M. Colbert is a bold councilor: do not be too confident!"

"Monsieur Colbert again!" cried Fouquet. "How is it that that name rises
upon all occasions to torment my ears, during the last two or three
days? Thou make so trifling a subject of too much importance, Gourville.
Let M. Colbert appear, I will face him; let him raise his head, I will
crush him; but you understand, there must be an outline upon which
my look may fall, there must be a surface upon which my feet may be
placed."

"Patience, monseigneur, for you do not know what Colbert is--study him
quickly; it is with this dark financier as it is with meteors, which the
eye never sees completely before their disastrous invasion; when we feel
them we are dead."

"Oh! Gourville, this is going too far," replied Fouquet, smiling; "allow
me, my friend, not to be so easily frightened; M. Colbert a meteor!
Corbleu, we confront the meteor. Let us see acts, and not words. What
has he done?"

"He has ordered two gibbets of the executioner of Paris," answered
Gourville.

Fouquet raised his head, and a flash gleamed from his eyes. "Are you
sure of what you say?" cried he.

"Here is the proof, monseigneur." And Gourville held out to the
superintendent a note communicated by a certain secretary of the Hotel
de Ville, who was one of Fouquet's creatures.

"Yes, that is true," murmured the minister; "the scaffold may be
prepared, but the king has not signed; Gourville, the king will not
sign."

"I shall soon know," said Gourville.

"How?"

"If the king has signed, the gibbets will be sent this evening to the
Hotel de Ville, in order to be got up and ready by to-morrow mo