ntured to follow him.

Chapter LXII. The Shower of Rain.

At this moment, and in the same direction, too, that the king and La
Valliere had taken, except that they were in the wood itself instead of
following the path, two men were walking together, utterly indifferent
to the appearance of the heavens. Their heads were bent down in the
manner of people occupied with matters of great moment. They had not
observed either De Guiche or Madame, the king or La Valliere. Suddenly
something fell through the air like a colossal sheet of flame, followed
by a loud but distant rumbling noise.

"Ah!" said one of them, raising his head, "here comes the storm. Let us
reach our carriages, my dear D'Herblay."

Aramis looked inquiringly at the heavens. "There is no occasion to hurry
yet," he said; and then resuming the conversation where it had doubtless
been interrupted, he said, "You were observing that the letter we wrote
last evening must by this time have reached its destination?"

"I was saying that she certainly has it."

"Whom did you send it by?"

"By my own servant, as I have already told you."

"Did he bring back an answer?"

"I have not seen him since; the young girl was probably in attendance
on Madame, or was in her own room dressing, and he may have had to
wait. Our time for leaving arrived, and we set off, of course; I cannot,
therefore, know what is going on yonder."

"Did you see the king before leaving?"

"Yes."

"How did he seem?"

"Nothing could have passed off better, or worse; according as he be
sincere or hypocritical."

"And the _fete?_"

"Will take place in a month."

"He invited himself, you say?"

"With a pertinacity in which I detected Colbert's influence. But has not
last night removed your illusions?"

"What illusions?"

"With respect to the assistance you may be able to give me under these
circumstances."

"No; I have passed the night writing, and all my orders are given."

"Do not conceal it from yourself, D'Herblay, but the _fete_ will cost
some millions."

"I will supply six; do you on your side get two or three."

"You are a wonderful man, my dear D'Herblay."

Aramis smiled.

"But," inquired Fouquet, with some remaining uneasiness, "how is it that
while you are now squandering millions in this manner, a few days ago
you did not pay the fifty thousand francs to Baisemeaux out of your own
pocket?"

"Because a few days ago I was as poor as Job."

"And to-day?"