"He told him so, but the concierge sent him this reply: 'If any one came
to me from M. Fouquet, he would have a letter from M. Fouquet.'"

"Oh!" cried the latter, "if a letter is all he wants----"

"It is useless, monsieur!" said Pellisson, showing himself at the corner
of the little wood, "useless! Go yourself, and speak in your own name."

"You are right. I will go in, as if to work; let the horses remain
harnessed, Pellisson. Entertain my friends, Gourville."

"One last word of advice, monseigneur," replied the latter.

"Speak, Gourville."

"Do not go to the concierge save at the last minute; it is brave, but
it is not wise. Excuse me, Monsieur Pellisson, if I am not of the same
opinion as you; but take my advice, monseigneur, send again a message to
this concierge,--he is a worthy man, but do not carry it yourself."

"I will think of it," said Fouquet; "besides, we have all the night
before us."

"Do not reckon too much on time; were the hours we have twice as many as
they are, they would not be too much," replied Pellisson; "it is never a
fault to arrive too soon."

"Adieu!" said the superintendent; "come with me, Pellisson. Gourville, I
commend my guests to your care." And he set off. The Epicureans did
not perceive that the head of the school had left them; the violins
continued playing all night long.

CHAPTER 59. A Quarter of an Hour's Delay

Fouquet, on leaving his house for the second time that day, felt himself
less heavy and less disturbed than might have been expected. He turned
towards Pellisson, who was meditating in the corner of the carriage some
good arguments against the violent proceedings of Colbert.

"My dear Pellisson," said Fouquet, "it is a great pity you are not a
woman."

"I think, on the contrary, it is very fortunate," replied Pellisson,
"for, monseigneur, I am excessively ugly."

"Pellisson! Pellisson!" said the superintendent, laughing: "you repeat
too often you are 'ugly,' not to leave people to believe that it gives
you much pain."

"In fact it does, monseigneur, much pain; there is no man more
unfortunate than I: I was handsome, the smallpox rendered me hideous;
I am deprived of a great means of attraction; now, I am your principal
clerk or something of that sort; I take great interest in your affairs,
and if, at this moment, I were a pretty woman, I could render you an
important service."

"What?"

"I would go and find the concierge of the Palais. I wo