t plainly proclaim the respect you have for
my will."

"Sire," replied Pelisson, trembling at these words, "we are come to say
nothing to your majesty that is not the most profound expression of
the most sincere respect and love that are due to a king from all his
subjects. Your majesty's justice is redoubtable; every one must yield to
the sentences it pronounces. We respectfully bow before it. Far from us
the idea of coming to defend him who has had the misfortune to offend
your majesty. He who has incurred your displeasure may be a friend of
ours, but he is an enemy to the state. We abandon him, but with tears,
to the severity of the king."

"Besides," interrupted the king, calmed by that supplicating voice,
and those persuasive words, "my parliament will decide. I do not strike
without first having weighed the crime; my justice does not wield the
sword without employing first a pair of scales."

"Therefore we have every confidence in that impartiality of the king,
and hope to make our feeble voices heard, with the consent of your
majesty, when the hour for defending an accused friend strikes."

"In that case, messieurs, what do you ask of me?" said the king, with
his most imposing air.

"Sire," continued Pelisson, "the accused has a wife and family. The
little property he had was scarcely sufficient to pay his debts,
and Madame Fouquet, since her husband's captivity, is abandoned by
everybody. The hand of your majesty strikes like the hand of God. When
the Lord sends the curse of leprosy or pestilence into a family,
every one flies and shuns the abode of the leprous or plague-stricken.
Sometimes, but very rarely, a generous physician alone ventures to
approach the ill-reputed threshold, passes it with courage, and risks
his life to combat death. He is the last resource of the dying, the
chosen instrument of heavenly mercy. Sire, we supplicate you, with
clasped hands and bended knees, as a divinity is supplicated! Madame
Fouquet has no longer any friends, no longer any means of support; she
weeps in her deserted home, abandoned by all those who besieged its
doors in the hour of prosperity; she has neither credit nor hope left.
At least, the unhappy wretch upon whom your anger falls receives from
you, however culpable he may be, his daily bread though moistened by
his tears. As much afflicted, more destitute than her husband, Madame
Fouquet--the lady who had the honor to receive your majesty at her
table--Madame