ing about it. How am I to manage,
then, so that M. le Surintendant pass from the height of favor to the
direst disgrace; that Vaux be turned into a dungeon for him; that after
having been steeped to his lips, as it were, in all the perfumes and
incense of Assuerus, he is transferred to the gallows of Haman; in other
words, of Enguerrand de Marigny?" And at this reflection, D'Artagnan's
brow became clouded with perplexity. The musketeer had certain scruples
on the matter, it must be admitted. To deliver up to death (for not a
doubt existed that Louis hated Fouquet mortally) the man who had just
shown himself so delightful and charming a host in every way, was a real
case of conscience.

"It almost seems," said D'Artagnan to himself, "that if I am not a poor,
mean, miserable fellow, I should let M. Fouquet know the opinion the
king has about him. Yet, if I betray my master's secret, I shall be a
false-hearted, treacherous knave, a traitor too, a crime provided for
and punishable by military laws--so much so, indeed, that twenty times,
in former days when wars were rife, I have seen many a miserable fellow
strung up to a tree for doing, in a small degree, what my scruples
counsel me to do to a greater extent now. No, I think that a man of true
readiness of wit ought to get out of this difficulty with more skill
than that. And now, let us admit that I do possess a little readiness of
invention, it is not at all certain, though; for, after having for forty
years absorbed so large a quantity, I shall be lucky if there were to be
a pistole's worth left." D'Artagnan buried his head in his hands, tore
his mustache in sheer vexation, and added, "What can be the reason of M.
Fouquet's disgrace? There seem to be three good ones: the first, because
M. Colbert doesn't like him; the second, because he wished to fall in
love with Mademoiselle de la Valliere; and lastly, because the king
likes M. Colbert and loves Mademoiselle de la Valliere. Oh! he is a lost
man! But shall I put my foot on his neck, I, of all men, when he is
falling a prey to the intrigues of a set of women and clerks? For shame!
If he be dangerous, I will lay him low enough; if, however, he be only
persecuted, I will look on. I have come to such a decisive
determination, that neither king nor living man shall change my opinion.
If Athos were here, he would do as I have done. Therefore, instead of
going, cold-bloodedly, up to M. Fouquet, and arresting him off-hand and