is M. Colbert?"

"M. Colbert himself. He is giving orders personally to the workmen who
are arranging the lamps for the illuminations."

"Thank you," said Fouquet, with an inclination of the head, which
indicated that he had obtained all the information he wished. The
chevalier, on his side, having, on the contrary, learned nothing at all,
withdrew with a profound salutation.

He had scarcely left when Fouquet, knitting his brows, fell into a deep
reverie. Aramis looked at him for a moment with a mingled feeling of
compassion and silence.

"What!" he said to him, "the fellow's name alone seemed to affect you.
Is it possible that, full of triumph and delight as you were just now,
the sight merely of that man is capable of dispiriting you? Tell me,
have you faith in your good star?"

"No," replied Fouquet, dejectedly.

"Why not?"

"Because I am too full of happiness at this present moment," he replied,
in a trembling voice. "You, my dear D'Herblay, who are so learned, will
remember the history of a certain tyrant of Samos. What can I throw into
the sea to avert approaching evil? Yes! I repeat it once more, I am
too full of happiness! so happy that I wish for nothing beyond what I
have... I have risen so high... You know my motto: '_Quo non ascendam?_'
I have risen so high that nothing is left me but to descend from my
elevation. I cannot believe in the progress of a success already more
than human."

Aramis smiled as he fixed his kind and penetrating glance upon him.
"If I were aware of the cause of your happiness," he said, "I should
probably fear for your grace; but you regard me in the light of a true
friend; I mean, you turn to me in misfortune, nothing more. Even that
is an immense and precious boon, I know; but the truth is, I have a
just right to beg you to confide in me, from time to time, any fortunate
circumstances that befall you, in which I should rejoice, you know, more
than if they had befallen myself."

"My dear prelate," said Fouquet, laughing, "my secrets are of too
profane a character to confide them to a bishop, however great a
worldling he may be."

"Bah! in confession."

"Oh! I should blush too much if you were my confessor." And Fouquet
began to sigh. Aramis again looked at him without further betrayal of
his thoughts than a placid smile.

"Well," he said, "discretion is a great virtue."

"Silence," said Fouquet; "yonder venomous reptile has recognized us, and
is crawling this way."