is agreeable
enough, and I recognize M. Fouquet himself in it. That idea, indeed,
makes me forget that poor fellow Broussel altogether; and I now fail to
recognize in you the whining complaints of that old Frondeur. If you are
ruined, monsieur, look at the affair manfully, for you too, _mordioux!_
belong to posterity, and have no right to lessen yourself in any way.
Stay a moment; look at me, I who seem to exercise in some degree a
kind of superiority over you, because I am arresting you; fate, which
distributes their different parts to the comedians of this world,
accorded me a less agreeable and less advantageous part to fill than
yours has been. I am one of those who think that the parts which kings
and powerful nobles are called upon to act are infinitely of more worth
than the parts of beggars or lackeys. It is far better on the stage--on
the stage, I mean, of another theater than the theater of this world--it
is far better to wear a fine coat and to talk a fine language, than to
walk the boards shod with a pair of old shoes, or to get one's backbone
gently polished by a hearty dressing with a stick. In one word, you have
been a prodigal with money, you have ordered and been obeyed--have been
steeped to the lips in enjoyment; while I have dragged my tether after
me, have been commanded and have obeyed, and have drudged my life
away. Well, although I may seem of such trifling importance beside you,
monseigneur, I do declare to you, that the recollection of what I have
done serves me as a spur, and prevents me from bowing my old head too
soon. I shall remain unto the very end a trooper; and when my turn
comes, I shall fall perfectly straight, all in a heap, still alive,
after having selected my place beforehand. Do as I do, Monsieur Fouquet,
you will not find yourself the worse for it; a fall happens only once
in a lifetime to men like yourself, and the chief thing is, to take
it gracefully when the chance presents itself. There is a Latin
proverb--the words have escaped me, but I remember the sense of it very
well, for I have thought over it more than once--which says, 'The end
crowns the work!'"

Fouquet rose from his seat, passed his arm round D'Artagnan's neck, and
clasped him in a close embrace, whilst with the other hand he pressed
his hand. "An excellent homily," he said, after a moment's pause.

"A soldier's, monseigneur."

"You have a regard for me, in telling me all that."

"Perhaps."

Fouquet resume