f the stairs, when La Fontaine opened the
door and shouted out:

"He has promised us some whitings,
In return for all our writings."

The shouts of laughter reached the ears of Fouquet, at the moment Aramis
opened the door of the study. As to Moliere, he had undertaken to order
the horses, while Aramis went to exchange a parting word with the
surintendant. "Oh, how they are laughing there!" said Fouquet with a
sigh.

"And do not you laugh, monseigneur?"

"I laugh no longer now, M. d'Herblay. The fete is approaching; money is
departing."

"Have I not told you that was my business?"

"Yes; you promised me millions."

"You shall have them the day after the king's entree into Vaux."

Fouquet looked closely at Aramis, and passed his icy hand across his
moistened brow. Aramis perceived that the surintendant either doubted
him, or felt he was powerless to obtain the money. How could Fouquet
suppose that a poor bishop, ex-abbe, ex-musketeer, could find any?

"Why doubt me?" said Aramis. Fouquet smiled and shook his head.

"Man of little faith!" added the bishop.

"My dear M. d'Herblay," answered Fouquet, "if I fall--"

"Well; if you 'fall'?"

"I shall, at least, fall from such a height that I shall shatter myself
in falling." Then giving himself a shake, as though to escape from
himself, "Whence come you," said he, "my friend?"

"From Paris--from Percerin."

"And what have you been doing at Percerin's, for I suppose you attach no
such great importance to our poets' dresses?"

"No; I went to prepare a surprise!

"Surprise?"

"Yes; which you are to give to the king."

"And will it cost much?"

"Oh! a hundred pistoles you will give Lebrun."

"A painting?--Ah! all the better! And what is this painting to
represent?"

"I will tell you; then at the same time, whatever you may say of it, I
went to see the dresses for our poets."

"Bah! and they will be rich and elegant?"

"Splendid! There will be few great monsiegneurs with so good. People
will see the difference there is between the courtiers of wealth and
those of friendship."

"Ever generous and graceful, dear prelate!"

"In your school."

Fouquet grasped his hand. "And where are you going?" he said.

"I am off to Paris, when you shall have given a certain letter."

"For whom?"

"M. de Lyonne."

"And what do you want with Lyonne?"

"I wish to make him sign a lettre de cachet."

"'Lettre de cachet!' Do you desire to put somebody in t