"Be it so!" murmured the king. "But still, the world is wide enough and large enough for those whom I may send to overtake your horses, notwithstanding the "four hours" start" which you have given to M.
d"Herblay."
"In giving him these four hours, sire, I knew I was giving him his life, and he will save his life."
"In what way?"
"After having galloped as hard as possible, with the four hours" start, before your musketeers, he will reach my chateau of Belle-Isle, where I have given him a safe asylum."
"That may be! But you forget that you have made me a present of Belle-Isle."
"But not for you to arrest my friends."
"You take it back again, then?"
"As far as that goes--yes, sire."
"My musketeers shall capture it, and the affair will be at an end."
"Neither your musketeers, nor your whole army could take Belle-Isle,"
said Fouquet, coldly. "Belle-Isle is impregnable."
The king became perfectly livid; a lightning flash seemed to dart from his eyes. Fouquet felt that he was lost, but he as not one to shrink when the voice of honor spoke loudly within him. He bore the king"s wrathful gaze; the latter swallowed his rage, and after a few moments"
silence, said, "Are we going to return to Vaux?"
"I am at your majesty"s orders," replied Fouquet, with a low bow; "but I think that your majesty can hardly dispense with changing your clothes previous to appearing before your court."
"We shall pa.s.s by the Louvre," said the king. "Come." And they left the prison, pa.s.sing before Baisemeaux, who looked completely bewildered as he saw Marchiali once more leave; and, in his helplessness, tore out the major portion of his few remaining hairs. It was perfectly true, however, that Fouquet wrote and gave him an authority for the prisoner"s release, and that the king wrote beneath it, "Seen and approved, Louis"; a piece of madness that Baisemeaux, incapable of putting two ideas together, acknowledged by giving himself a terrible blow on the forehead with his own fist.
Chapter XXIV. The False King.
In the meantime, usurped royalty was playing out its part bravely at Vaux. Philippe gave orders that for his _pet.i.t lever_ the _grandes entrees_, already prepared to appear before the king, should be introduced. He determined to give this order notwithstanding the absence of M. d"Herblay, who did not return--our readers know the reason. But the prince, not believing that absence could be prolonged, wished, as all rash spirits do, to try his valor and his fortune far from all protection and instruction. Another reason urged him to this--Anne of Austria was about to appear; the guilty mother was about to stand in the presence of her sacrificed son. Philippe was not willing, if he had a weakness, to render the man a witness of it before whom he was bound thenceforth to display so much strength. Philippe opened his folding doors, and several persons entered silently. Philippe did not stir whilst his _valets de chambre_ dressed him. He had watched, the evening before, all the habits of his brother, and played the king in such a manner as to awaken no suspicion. He was thus completely dressed in hunting costume when he received his visitors. His own memory and the notes of Aramis announced everybody to him, first of all Anne of Austria, to whom Monsieur gave his hand, and then Madame with M. de Saint-Aignan. He smiled at seeing these countenances, but trembled on recognizing his mother. That still so n.o.ble and imposing figure, ravaged by pain, pleaded in his heart the cause of the famous queen who had immolated a child to reasons of state. He found his mother still handsome. He knew that Louis XIV. loved her, and he promised himself to love her likewise, and not to prove a scourge to her old age. He contemplated his brother with a tenderness easily to be understood.
The latter had usurped nothing, had cast no shades athwart his life. A separate tree, he allowed the stem to rise without heeding its elevation or majestic life. Philippe promised himself to be a kind brother to this prince, who required nothing but gold to minister to his pleasures. He bowed with a friendly air to Saint-Aignan, who was all reverences and smiles, and trembling held out his hand to Henrietta, his sister-in-law, whose beauty struck him; but he saw in the eyes of that princess an expression of coldness which would facilitate, as he thought, their future relations.
"How much more easy," thought he, "it will be to be the brother of that woman than her gallant, if she evinces towards me a coldness that my brother could not have for her, but which is imposed upon me as a duty."
The only visit he dreaded at this moment was that of the queen; his heart--his mind--had just been shaken by so violent a trial, that, in spite of their firm temperament, they would not, perhaps, support another shock. Happily the queen did not come. Then commenced, on the part of Anne of Austria, a political dissertation upon the welcome M.
Fouquet had given to the house of France. She mixed up hostilities with compliments addressed to the king, and questions as to his health, with little maternal flatteries and diplomatic artifices.
"Well, my son," said she, "are you convinced with regard to M. Fouquet?"
"Saint-Aignan," said Philippe, "have the goodness to go and inquire after the queen."
At these words, the first Philippe had p.r.o.nounced aloud, the slight difference that there was between his voice and that of the king was sensible to maternal ears, and Anne of Austria looked earnestly at her son. Saint-Aignan left the room, and Philippe continued:
"Madame, I do not like to hear M. Fouquet ill-spoken of, you know I do not--and you have even spoken well of him yourself."
"That is true; therefore I only question you on the state of your sentiments with respect to him."
"Sire," said Henrietta, "I, on my part, have always liked M. Fouquet. He is a man of good taste,--a superior man."
"A superintendent who is never sordid or n.i.g.g.ardly," added Monsieur; "and who pays in gold all the orders I have on him."
"Every one in this thinks too much of himself, and n.o.body for the state," said the old queen. "M. Fouquet, it is a fact, M. Fouquet is ruining the state."
"Well, mother!" replied Philippe, in rather a lower key, "do you likewise const.i.tute yourself the buckler of M. Colbert?"
"How is that?" replied the old queen, rather surprised.
"Why, in truth," replied Philippe, "you speak that just as your old friend Madame de Chevreuse would speak."
"Why do you mention Madame de Chevreuse to me?" said she, "and what sort of humor are you in to-day towards me?"
Philippe continued: "Is not Madame de Chevreuse always in league against somebody? Has not Madame de Chevreuse been to pay you a visit, mother?"
"Monsieur, you speak to me now in such a manner that I can almost fancy I am listening to your father."
"My father did not like Madame de Chevreuse, and had good reason for not liking her," said the prince. "For my part, I like her no better than _he_ did, and if she thinks proper to come here as she formerly did, to sow divisions and hatreds under the pretext of begging money--why--"
"Well! what?" said Anne of Austria, proudly, herself provoking the storm.
"Well!" replied the young man firmly, "I will drive Madame de Chevreuse out of my kingdom--and with her all who meddle with its secrets and mysteries."
He had not calculated the effect of this terrible speech, or perhaps he wished to judge the effect of it, like those who, suffering from a chronic pain, and seeking to break the monotony of that suffering, touch their wound to procure a sharper pang. Anne of Austria was nearly fainting; her eyes, open but meaningless, ceased to see for several seconds; she stretched out her arms towards her other son, who supported and embraced her without fear of irritating the king.
"Sire," murmured she, "you are treating your mother very cruelly."
"In what respect, madame?" replied he. "I am only speaking of Madame de Chevreuse; does my mother prefer Madame de Chevreuse to the security of the state and of my person? Well, then, madame, I tell you Madame de Chevreuse has returned to France to borrow money, and that she addressed herself to M. Fouquet to sell him a certain secret."
"A certain secret!" cried Anne of Austria.
"Concerning pretended robberies that monsieur le surintendant had committed, which is false," added Philippe. "M. Fouquet rejected her offers with indignation, preferring the esteem of the king to complicity with such intriguers. Then Madame de Chevreuse sold the secret to M.
Colbert, and as she is insatiable, and was not satisfied with having extorted a hundred thousand crowns from a servant of the state, she has taken a still bolder flight, in search of surer sources of supply. Is that true, madame?"
"You know all, sire," said the queen, more uneasy than irritated.
"Now," continued Philippe, "I have good reason to dislike this fury, who comes to my court to plan the shame of some and the ruin of others. If Heaven has suffered certain crimes to be committed, and has concealed them in the shadow of its clemency, I will not permit Madame de Chevreuse to counteract the just designs of fate."
The latter part of this speech had so agitated the queen-mother, that her son had pity on her. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly; she did not feel that in that kiss, given in spite of repulsion and bitterness of the heart, there was a pardon for eight years of suffering. Philippe allowed the silence of a moment to swallow the emotions that had just developed themselves. Then, with a cheerful smile:
"We will not go to-day," said he, "I have a plan." And, turning towards the door, he hoped to see Aramis, whose absence began to alarm him. The queen-mother wished to leave the room.
"Remain where you are, mother," said he, "I wish you to make your peace with M. Fouquet."
"I bear M. Fouquet no ill-will; I only dreaded his prodigalities."
"We will put that to rights, and will take nothing of the superintendent but his good qualities."