Fouquet, the wife of the ancient superintendent of your
majesty's finances, Madame Fouquet has no longer bread."

Here the mortal silence which had chained the breath of Pelisson's two
friends was broken by an outburst of sobs; and D'Artagnan, whose chest
heaved at hearing this humble prayer, turned round towards the angle of
the cabinet to bite his mustache and conceal a groan.

The king had preserved his eye dry and his countenance severe; but
the blood had mounted to his cheeks, and the firmness of his look was
visibly diminished.

"What do you wish?" said he, in an agitated voice.

"We come humbly to ask your majesty," replied Pelisson, upon whom
emotion was fast gaining, "to permit us, without incurring the
displeasure of your majesty, to lend to Madame Fouquet two thousand
pistoles collected among the old friends of her husband, in order that
the widow may not stand in need of the necessaries of life."

At the word _widow_, pronounced by Pelisson whilst Fouquet was still
alive, the king turned very pale;--his pride disappeared; pity rose from
his heart to his lips; he cast a softened look upon the men who knelt
sobbing at his feet.

"God forbid," said he, "that I should confound the innocent with the
guilty. They know me but ill who doubt my mercy towards the weak. I
strike none but the arrogant. Do, messieurs, do all that your hearts
counsel you to assuage the grief of Madame Fouquet. Go, messieurs--go!"

The three now rose in silence with dry eyes. The tears had been scorched
away by contact with their burning cheeks and eyelids. They had not
the strength to address their thanks to the king, who himself cut short
their solemn reverences by entrenching himself suddenly behind the
_fauteuil_.

D'Artagnan remained alone with the king.

"Well," said he, approaching the young prince, who interrogated him with
his look. "Well, my master! If you had not the device which belongs to
your sun, I would recommend you one which M. Conrart might translate
into eclectic Latin, 'Calm with the lowly; stormy with the strong.'"

The king smiled, and passed into the next apartment, after having said
to D'Artagnan, "I give you the leave of absence you must want to put the
affairs of your friend, the late M. du Vallon, in order."

Chapter LV. Porthos's Will.

At Pierrefonds everything was in mourning. The courts were deserted--the
stables closed--the parterres neglected. In the basins, the fountains,
formerly so jub