“Who?”

“Me, for instance.”

“And what would you do at Belle-Isle?”

“Inform myself whether, after the example of the ancient feudal lords, M. Fouquet was battlementing his walls.”

“And with what purpose could he do that?”

“With the purpose of defending himself someday against his king.”

“But, if it be thus, M. Colbert,” said Louis, “we must immediately do as you say; M. Fouquet must be arrested.”

“That is impossible.”

“I thought I had already told you, monsieur, that I suppressed that word in my service.”

“The service of your majesty cannot prevent M. Fouquet from being surintendant-general.”

“Well?”

“That, in consequence of holding that post, he has for him all the parliament, as he has all the army by his largesses, literature by his favors, and the noblesse by his presents.”

“That is to say, then, that I can do nothing against M. Fouquet?”

“Absolutely nothing, — at least at present, sire.”

“You are a sterile counselor, M. Colbert.”

“Oh, no, sire; for I will not confine myself to pointing out the peril to your majesty.”

“Come, then, where shall we begin to undermine this Colossus; let us see;” and his majesty began to laugh bitterly.

“He has grown great by money; kill him by money, sire.”

“If I were to deprive him of his charge?”

“A bad means, sire.”

“The good — the good, then?”

“Ruin him, sire, that is the way.”

“But how?”

“Occasions will not be wanting; take advantage of all occasions.”

“Point them out to me.”

“Here is one at once.  His royal highness Monsieur is about to be married; his nuptials must be magnificent.  That is a good occasion for your majesty to demand a million of M. Fouquet.  M. Fouquet, who pays twenty thousand livres down when he need not pay more than five thousand, will easily find that million when your majesty demands it.”

“That is all very well; I will demand it,” said Louis.

“If your majesty will sign the ordonnance I will have the money got together myself.”  And Colbert pushed a paper before the king, and presented a pen to him.

At that moment the usher opened the door and announced monsieur le surintendant.  Louis turned pale.  Colbert let the pen fall, and drew back from the king, over whom he extended his black wings like an evil spirit.  The superintendent made his entrance like a man of the court, to whom a single glance was sufficient to make him appreciate the situation.  That situation was not very encouraging for Fouquet, whatever might be his consciousness of strength.  The small black eye of Colbert, dilated by envy, and the limpid eye of Louis XIV. inflamed by anger, signalled some pressing danger.  Courtiers are, with regard to court rumors, like old soldiers, who