m the Medici family
patronized, sculptured, chased, and moulded for the purpose of holding
flowers, at a time when gold existed still in France. These hidden
marvels, which had been buried during the civil wars, timidly reappeared
during the intervals of that war of good taste called La Fronde; at a
time when noblemen fighting against nobleman killed, but did not pillage
each other. All the plate present had Madame de Belliere's arms engraved
upon it. "Look," cried La Fontaine, "here is a P and a B."

But the most remarkable object present was the cover which Fouquet had
assigned to the marquise. Near her was a pyramid of diamonds, sapphires,
emeralds, antique cameos, sardonyx stones, carved by the old Greeks of
Asia Minor, with mountings of Mysian gold; curious mosaics of ancient
Alexandria, set in silver; massive Egyptian bracelets lay heaped on
a large plate of Palissy ware, supported by a tripod of gilt bronze,
sculptured by Benvenuto Cellini. The marquise turned pale, as she
recognized what she had never expected to see again. A profound silence
fell on every one of the restless and excited guests. Fouquet did
not even make a sign in dismissal of the richly liveried servants who
crowded like bees round the huge buffets and other tables in the room.
"Gentlemen," he said, "all this plate which you behold once belonged
to Madame de Belliere, who, having observed one of her friends in great
distress, sent all this gold and silver, together with the heap of
jewels now before her, to her goldsmith. This noble conduct of a devoted
friend can well be understood by such friends as you. Happy indeed is
that man who sees himself loved in such a manner. Let us drink to the
health of Madame de Belliere."

A tremendous burst of applause followed his words, and made poor Madame
de Belliere sink back dumb and breathless in her seat. "And then,"
added Pelisson, who was always affected by a noble action, as he was
invariably impressed by beauty, "let us also drink to the health of him
who inspired madame's noble conduct; for such a man is worthy of being
worthily loved."

It was now the marquise's turn. She rose, pale and smiling; and as she
held out her glass with a faltering hand, and her trembling fingers
touched those of Fouquet, her look, full of love, found its mirror in
that of her ardent and generous-hearted lover. Begun in this manner, the
supper soon became a _fete_; no one tried to be witty, but no one failed
in being