et. "But what is to be done there?
The king summons me to the States. I know well it is for the purpose of
ruining me; but to refuse to go would be to evince uneasiness."

"Well, I have discovered the means of reconciling everything," cried
Pelisson. "You are going to set out for Nantes."

Fouquet looked at him with an air of surprise.

"But with friends; but in your own carriage as far as Orleans; in your
own barge as far as Nantes; always ready to defend yourself, if you are
attacked; to escape, if you are threatened. In fact, you will carry your
money against all chances; and, whilst flying, you will only have obeyed
the king; then, reaching the sea, when you like, you will embark for
Belle-Isle, and from Belle-Isle you will shoot out wherever it may
please you, like the eagle that leaps into space when it has been driven
from its eyrie."

A general assent followed Pelisson's words. "Yes, do so," said Madame
Fouquet to her husband.

"Do so," said Madame de Belliere.

"Do it! do it!" cried all his friends.

"I will do so," replied Fouquet.

"This very evening?"

"In an hour?"

"Instantly."

"With seven hundred thousand livres you can lay the foundation of
another fortune," said the Abbe Fouquet.

"What is there to prevent our arming corsairs at Belle-Isle?"

"And, if necessary, we will go and discover a new world," added La
Fontaine, intoxicated with fresh projects and enthusiasm.

A knock at the door interrupted this concert of joy and hope. "A courier
from the king," said the master of the ceremonies.

A profound silence immediately ensued, as if the message brought by this
courier was nothing but a reply to all the projects given birth to a
moment before. Every one waited to see what the master would do. His
brow was streaming with perspiration, and he was really suffering from
his fever at that instant. He passed into his cabinet, to receive the
king's message. There prevailed, as we have said, such a silence in the
chambers, and throughout the attendance, that from the dining-room could
be heard the voice of Fouquet, saying, "That is well, monsieur." This
voice was, however, broken by fatigue, and trembled with emotion. An
instant after, Fouquet called Gourville, who crossed the gallery amidst
the universal expectation. At length, he himself re-appeared among his
guests; but it was no longer the same pale, spiritless countenance they
had beheld when he left them; from pale he had become livid;