door was shut,--"How
much is due to you, monsieur?"

"Why, something like five thousand livres, monseigneur."

"For arrears of pay?"

"For a quarter's pay."

"A quarter consisting of five thousand livres!" said Fouquet, fixing
upon the musketeer a searching look. "Does the king, then, give you
twenty thousand livres a year?"

"Yes, monseigneur, twenty thousand livres a year. Do you think it is too
much?"

"I?" cried Fouquet, and he smiled bitterly. "If I had any knowledge of
mankind, if I were--instead of being a frivolous, inconsequent, and vain
spirit--of a prudent and reflective spirit; if, in a word, I had, as
certain persons have known how, regulated my life, you would not receive
twenty thousand livres a year, but a hundred thousand, and you would not
belong to the king, but to me."

D'Artagnan colored slightly. There is sometimes in the manner in which
a eulogium is given, in the voice, in the affectionate tone, a poison so
sweet, that the strongest mind is intoxicated by it. The superintendent
terminated his speech by opening a drawer, and taking from it four
rouleaux which he placed before D'Artagnan. The Gascon opened one.
"Gold!" said he.

"It will be less burdensome, monsieur."

"But then, monsieur, these make twenty thousand livres."

"No doubt they do."

"But only five are due to me."

"I wish to spare you the trouble of coming four times to my office."

"You overwhelm me, monsieur."

"I do only what I ought to do, monsieur le chevalier; and I hope you
will not bear me any malice on account of the rude reception my brother
gave you. He is of a sour, capricious disposition."

"Monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "believe me, nothing would grieve me more
than an excuse from you."

"Therefore I will make no more, and will content myself with asking you
a favor."

"Oh, monsieur."

Fouquet drew from his finger a ring worth about a thousand pistoles.
"Monsieur," said he, "this stone was given me by a friend of my
childhood, by a man to whom you have rendered a great service."

"A service--I?" said the musketeer, "I have rendered a service to one of
your friends?"

"You cannot have forgotten it, monsieur, for it dates this very day."

"And that friend's name was----"

"M. d'Eymeris."

"One of the condemned?"

"Yes, one of the victims. Well! Monsieur d'Artagnan, in return for the
service you have rendered him, I beg you to accept this diamond. Do so
for my sake."

"Monsieur! you----"