t they would both
converse about him, and that neither of them would spare him in the
least degree. The satisfaction of being able to give a last and
terrible blow to his enemy seemed to him almost like a compensation
for everything they were about to subject him to. He turned back again
immediately, as soon, indeed, as he had reached the door, and addressing
the king, said, "I was forgetting that I had to crave your majesty's
forgiveness."

"In what respect?" said the king, graciously.

"For having committed a serious fault without perceiving it."

"A fault! You! Ah! Monsieur Fouquet, I shall be unable to do otherwise
than forgive you. In what way or against whom have you been found
wanting?"

"Against every sense of propriety, sire. I forgot to inform your majesty
of a circumstance that has lately occurred of some little importance."

"What is it?"

Colbert trembled; he fancied that he was about to frame a denunciation
against him. His conduct had been unmasked. A single syllable from
Fouquet, a single proof formally advanced, and before the youthful
loyalty of feeling which guided Louis XIV., Colbert's favor would
disappear at once; the latter trembled, therefore, lest so daring a blow
might overthrow his whole scaffold; in point of fact, the opportunity
was so admirably suited to be taken advantage of, that a skillful,
practiced player like Aramis would not have let it slip. "Sire," said
Fouquet, with an easy, unconcerned air, "since you have had the kindness
to forgive me, I am perfectly indifferent about my confession; this
morning I sold one of the official appointments I hold."

"One of your appointments," said the king, "which?"

Colbert turned perfectly livid. "That which conferred upon me, sire,
a grand gown, and a stern air of gravity; the appointment of
procureur-general."

The king involuntarily uttered a loud exclamation and looked at Colbert,
who, with his face bedewed with perspiration, felt almost on the point
of fainting. "To whom have you sold this department, Monsieur Fouquet?"
inquired the king.

Colbert was obliged to lean against a column of the fireplace. "To a
councilor belonging to the parliament, sire, whose name is Vanel."

"Vanel?"

"Yes, sire, a particular friend of the intendant Colbert," added
Fouquet; letting every word fall from his lips with the most inimitable
nonchalance, and with an admirably assumed expression of forgetfulness
and ignorance. And having finished, an