t in coming here."

"Yes," said Fouquet, "one can easily see that."

"But--" said Vanel, attempting to stand erect before the weakness of
these two men of honor.

"Does the fellow presume to speak?" said Aramis, with the tone of an
emperor.

"Fellow!" repeated Vanel.

"The scoundrel, I meant to say," added Aramis, who had now resumed his
usual self-possession. "Come, monsieur, produce your deed of sale,--you
have it about you, I suppose, in one of your pockets, already prepared,
as an assassin holds his pistol or his dagger concealed under his cloak."

Vanel began to mutter something.

"Enough!" cried Fouquet. "Where is this deed?"

Vanel tremblingly searched in his pockets, and as he drew out his
pocket-book, a paper fell out of it, while Vanel offered the other to
Fouquet. Aramis pounced upon the paper which had fallen out, as soon as
he recognized the handwriting. "I beg your pardon," said Vanel, "that is
a rough draft of the deed."

"I see that very clearly," retorted Aramis, with a smile more cutting
than a lash of a whip; "and what I admire most is, that this draft is in
M. Colbert's handwriting. Look, monseigneur, look."

And he handed the draft to Fouquet, who recognized the truth of the
fact; for, covered with erasures, with inserted words, the margins
filled with additions, this deed--a living proof of Colbert's plot--had
just revealed everything to its unhappy victim. "Well!" murmured
Fouquet.

Vanel, completely humiliated, seemed as if he were looking for some hole
wherein to hide himself.

"Well!" said Aramis, "if your name were not Fouquet, and if your enemy's
name were not Colbert--if you had not this mean thief before you, I
should say to you, 'Repudiate it;' such a proof as this absolves you
from your word; but these fellows would think you were afraid; they
would fear you less than they do; therefore sign the deed at once." And
he held out a pen towards him.

Fouquet pressed Aramis's hand; but, instead of the deed which Vanel
handed to him, he took the rough draft of it.

"No, not that paper," said Aramis, hastily; "this is the one. The other
is too precious a document for you to part with."

"No, no!" replied Fouquet; "I will sign under M. Colbert's own
handwriting even; and I write, 'The handwriting is approved of.'" He
then signed, and said, "Here it is, Monsieur Vanel." And the latter
seized the paper, dashed down the money, and was about to make his
escape.

"One moment," sai