ion, and that these
letters must be as she represents them, since she wished to sell them to
me for five hundred thousand francs."

"Oh! one can have a very tolerable calumny got up for such a sum as
that," replied Fouquet. "Ah! now I know what you mean," and he began to
laugh very heartily.

"So much the better," said Aramis, a little reassured.

"I remember the story of those thirteen millions now. Yes, yes, I
remember them quite well."

"I am delighted to hear it; tell me about them."

"Well, then, one day Signor Mazarin, Heaven rest his soul! made a profit
of thirteen millions upon a concession of lands in the Valtelline; he
canceled them in the registry of receipts, sent them to me, and then
made me advance them to him for war expenses."

"Very good; then there is no doubt of their proper destination."

"No; the cardinal made me invest them in my own name, and gave me a
receipt."

"You have the receipt?"

"Of course," said Fouquet, as he quietly rose from his chair, and went
to his large ebony bureau inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold.

"What I most admire in you," said Aramis, with an air of great
satisfaction, "is, your memory in the first place, then your
self-possession, and, finally, the perfect order which prevails in your
administration; you, of all men, too, who are by nature a poet."

"Yes," said Fouquet, "I am orderly out of a spirit of idleness, to save
myself the trouble of looking after things, and so I know that Mazarin's
receipt is in the third drawer under the letter M; I open the drawer,
and place my hand upon the very paper I need. In the night, without a
light, I could find it."

And with a confident hand he felt the bundle of papers which were piled
up in the open drawer. "Nay, more than that," he continued, "I remember
the paper as if I saw it; it is thick, somewhat crumpled, with gilt
edges; Mazarin had made a blot upon the figure of the date. Ah!" he
said, "the paper knows we are talking about it, and that we want it very
much, and so it hides itself out of the way."

And as the superintendent looked into the drawer, Aramis rose from his
seat.

"This is very singular," said Fouquet.

"Your memory is treacherous, my dear monseigneur; look in another
drawer."

Fouquet took out the bundle of papers, and turned them over once more;
he then grew very pale.

"Don't confine your search to that drawer," said Aramis; "look
elsewhere."

"Quite useless; I have never made a mis