o him is worth more than all the houses and all the
treasures of the world. That skin to which I cling above everything,
because it is, everything considered, the binding of a body which
encloses a heart very warm and ready to fight, and, consequently, to
live. Then, I do desire to live; and, in reality, I live much better,
more completely, since I have become rich. Who the devil ever said that
money spoiled life! Upon my soul, it is no such thing; on the contrary,
it seems as if I absorbed a double quantity of air and sun. Mordioux!
what will it be then, if I double that fortune, and if, instead of
the switch I now hold in my hand, I should ever carry the baton of a
marechal? Then I really don't know if there will be, from that moment
enough of air and sun for me. In fact, this is not a dream, who the
devil would oppose it, if the king made me a marechal, as his father,
King Louis XIII., made a duke and constable of Albert de Luynes? Am I
not as brave, and much more intelligent, than that imbecile De Vitry?
Ah! that's exactly what will prevent my advancement: I have too much
wit. Luckily, if there is any justice in this world, fortune owes me
many compensations. She owes me certainly a recompense for all I did for
Anne of Austria, and an indemnification for all she has not done for me.
Then, at the present, I am very well with a king, and with a king who
has the appearance of determining to reign. May God keep him in that
illustrious road! For, if he is resolved to reign he will want me; and
if he wants me, he will give me what he has promised me--warmth and
light; so that I march, comparatively, now, as I marched formerly,--from
nothing to everything. Only the nothing of to-day is the all of former
days; there has only this little change taken place in my life. And
now let us see! let us take the part of the heart, as I just now was
speaking of it. But in truth, I only spoke of it from memory." And the
Gascon applied his hand to his breast, as if he were actually seeking
the place where his heart was.

"Ah! wretch!" murmured he, smiling with bitterness. "Ah! poor mortal
species! You hoped, for an instant, that you had not a heart, and now
you find you have one--bad courtier as thou art,--and even one of the
most seditious. You have a heart which speaks to you in favor of M.
Fouquet. And what is M. Fouquet, when the king is in question?--A
conspirator, a real conspirator, who did not even give himself the
trouble to co