ouquet's; the salt-mines I am about to buy are
M. Fouquet's; the island in which Porthos studies topography is M.
Fouquet's; the galleys are M. Fouquet's. I confess, then, that nothing
would have surprised me in your enfeoffment, or rather in that of your
diocese, to M. Fouquet. He is a different master from the king, that is
all; but quite as powerful as Louis."

"Thank God! I am not vassal to anybody; I belong to nobody, and am
entirely my own master," replied Aramis, who, during this conversation,
followed with his eye every gesture of D'Artagnan, every glance of
Porthos. But D'Artagnan was impassible and Porthos motionless; the
thrusts aimed so skillfully were parried by an able adversary; not one
hit the mark. Nevertheless, both began to feel the fatigue of such a
contest and the announcement of supper was well received by everybody.
Supper changed the course of conversation. Besides, they felt that, upon
their guard as each one had been, they could neither of them boast of
having the advantage. Porthos had understood nothing of what had been
meant. He had held himself motionless, because Aramis had made him a
sign not to stir. Supper for him, was nothing but supper; but that
was quite enough for Porthos. The supper, then, went off very well.
D'Artagnan was in high spirits. Aramis exceeded himself in kind
affability. Porthos ate like old Pelops. Their talk was of war,
finance, the arts, and love. Aramis played astonishment at every word of
politics. D'Artagnan risked. This long series of surprises increased
the mistrust of D'Artagnan, as the eternal indifference of D'Artagnan
provoked the suspicions of Aramis. At length D'Artagnan, designedly,
uttered the name of Colbert; he had reserved that stroke for the last.

"Who is this Colbert?" asked the bishop.

"Oh! come," said D'Artagnan to himself, "that is too strong! We must be
careful, mordioux! we must be careful."

And he then gave Aramis all the information respecting M. Colbert he
could desire. The supper, or rather, the conversation, was prolonged
till one o'clock in the morning between D'Artagnan and Aramis. At ten
o'clock precisely, Porthos had fallen asleep in his chair and snored
like an organ. At midnight he woke up and they sent him to bed. "Hum!"
said he, "I was near falling asleep; but that was all very interesting
you were talking about."

At one o'clock Aramis conducted D'Artagnan to the chamber destined for
him, which was the best in the episcop