at the guests should thank their host, and should
show him a little attention in return for the expenditure of his twelve
millions. The only remark, approaching to amiability, which the king
could find to say to M. Fouquet, as he took leave of him, was in these
words, "Monsieur Fouquet, you shall hear from me. Be good enough to
desire M. d'Artagnan to come here."

And the blood of Louis XIV., who had so profoundly dissimulated his
feelings, boiled in his veins; and he was perfectly ready to get M.
Fouquet's throat cut, with the same readiness, indeed, as his
predecessor had caused the assassination of le Marechal d'Ancre; and so
he disguised the terrible resolution he had formed, beneath one of those
royal smiles which are the lightning flashes indicating _coups d'etat_.
Fouquet took the king's hand and kissed it; Louis shuddered throughout
his whole frame, but allowed M. Fouquet to touch his hand with his lips.
Five minutes afterward, D'Artagnan, to whom the royal order had been
communicated, entered Louis XIV.'s apartment. Aramis and Philippe were
in theirs, still eagerly attentive and still listening with all their
ears. The king did not even give the captain of the musketeers time to
approach his armchair, but ran forward to meet him. "Take care," he
exclaimed, "that no one enters here."

"Very good, sire," replied the captain, whose glance had for a long time
past analyzed the ravages on the king's countenance. He gave the
necessary order at the door; but returning to the king, he said, "Is
there something fresh the matter, your majesty?"

"How many men have you here?" inquired the king, without making any
other reply to the question addressed to him.

"What for, sire?"

"How many men have you, I say?" repeated the king, stamping upon the
ground with his foot.

"I have the musketeers."

"Well; and what others?"

"Twenty guards and thirteen Swiss."

"How many men will be required to--"

"To do what, sire?" replied the musketeer, opening his large, calm eyes.

"To arrest M. Fouquet."

D'Artagnan fell back a step. "To arrest M. Fouquet!" he burst forth.

"Are you going to tell me that it is impossible!" exclaimed the king,
with cold and vindictive passion.

"I never said that anything is impossible," replied D'Artagnan, wounded
to the quick.

"Very well; do it, then."

D'Artagnan turned on his heel, and made his way toward the door; it was
but a short distance, and he cleared it in half a dozen pa