caused to be arrested, tried and will execute my two friends; what does
it become me to do?"

"Mordieu!" exclaimed the abbe, the first one to speak, "run M. Colbert
through the body."

"Monseigneur," said Pellisson, "you must speak to his majesty."

"The king, my dear Pellisson, himself signed the order for the
execution."

"Well!" said the Comte de Chanost, "the execution must not take place,
then; that is all."

"Impossible," said Gourville, "unless we could corrupt the jailers."

"Or the governor," said Fouquet.

"This night the prisoners might be allowed to escape."

"Which of you will take charge of the transaction?"

"I," said the abbe, "will carry the money."

"And I," said Pellisson, "will be the bearer of the words."

"Words and money," said Fouquet, "five hundred thousand livres to the
governor of the conciergerie, that is sufficient, nevertheless, it shall
be a million, if necessary."

"A million!" cried the abbe; "why, for less than half, I would have half
Paris sacked."

"There must be no disorder," said Pellisson. "The governor being gained,
the two prisoners escape; once clear of the fangs of the law, they will
call together the enemies of Colbert, and prove to the king that his
young justice, like all other monstrosities, is not infallible."

"Go to Paris, then, Pellisson," said Fouquet, "and bring hither the two
victims; to-morrow we shall see."

Gourville gave Pellisson the five hundred thousand livres. "Take
care the wind does not carry you away," said the abbe; "what a
responsibility. Peste! Let me help you a little."

"Silence!" said Fouquet, "somebody is coming. Ah! the fireworks are
producing a magical effect." At this moment a shower of sparks fell
rustling among the branches of the neighboring trees. Pellisson
and Gourville went out together by the door of the gallery; Fouquet
descended to the garden with the five last plotters.

CHAPTER 58. Epicureans

As Fouquet was giving, or appearing to give, all his attention to
the brilliant illuminations, the languishing music of the violins
and hautboys, the sparkling sheaves of the artificial fires, which,
inflaming the heavens with glowing reflections, marked behind the
trees the dark profile of the donjon of Vincennes; as, we say, the
superintendent was smiling on the ladies and the poets the fete was
every whit as gay as usual; and Vatel, whose restless, even jealous
look, earnestly consulted the aspect of Fouquet, d