I that pay, Gourville, and I know my figures." Gourville
laughed in a silent, sly manner. "Yes, yes, you mean to say it is the
king pays," said the superintendent. "Ah, Gourville, that is a vile
joke; this is not the place."

"Monseigneur, do not be angry."

"Well, then, send away the Abbe Fouquet; I have not a sou." Gourville
made a step towards the door. "He has been a month without seeing me,"
continued Fouquet, "why could he not be two months?"

"Because he repents of living in bad company," said Gourville, "and
prefers you to all his bandits."

"Thanks for the preference! You make a strange advocate, Gourville,
to-day--the advocate of the Abbe Fouquet!"

"Eh! but everything and every man has a good side--their useful side,
monseigneur."

"The bandits whom the abbe keeps in pay and drink have their useful
side, have they? Prove that, if you please."

"Let the circumstance arise, monseigneur, and you will be very glad to
have these bandits under your hand."

"You advise me, then, to be reconciled to the abbe?" said Fouquet,
ironically.

"I advise you, monseigneur, not to quarrel with a hundred or a hundred
and twenty loose fellows, who, by putting their rapiers end to end,
would form a cordon of steel capable of surrounding three thousand men."

Fouquet darted a searching glance at Gourville, and passing before
him,--"That is all very well, let M. l'Abbe Fouquet be introduced," said
he to the footman. "You are right, Gourville."

Two minutes after, the Abbe Fouquet appeared in the doorway, with
profound reverences. He was a man of from forty to forty-five years of
age, half churchman half soldier,--a spadassin, grafted upon an abbe;
upon seeing that he had not a sword by his side, you might be sure he
had pistols. Fouquet saluted him more as an elder brother than as a
minister.

"What can I do to serve you, monsieur l'abbe?" said he.

"Oh! oh! how coldly you speak to me, brother!"

"I speak like a man who is in a hurry, monsieur."

The abbe looked maliciously at Gourville, and anxiously at Fouquet, and
said, "I have three hundred pistoles to pay to M. de Bregi this evening.
A play debt, a sacred debt."

"What next?" said Fouquet bravely, for he comprehended that the Abbe
Fouquet would not have disturbed him for such a want.

"A thousand to my butcher, who will supply no more meat."

"Next?"

"Twelve hundred to my tailor," continued the abbe; "the fellow has made
me take back seven suits of my