him,
and as soon as it was shut, flew to his keys, opened two or three secret
doors concealed in various articles of furniture in the room, looked
vainly for certain papers, which doubtless he had left at Saint-Mande,
and which he seemed to regret not having found in them; then hurriedly
seizing hold of letters, contracts, paper writings, he heaped them up
into a pile, which he burned in the extremest haste upon the marble
hearth of the fireplace, not even taking time to draw from the interior
of it the vases and pots of flowers with which it was filled.

As soon as he had finished, like a man who had just escaped an imminent
danger, and whose strength abandons him as soon as the danger is past,
he sank down completely overcome on a couch. When D'Artagnan returned,
he found Fouquet in the same position; the worthy musketeer had not the
slightest doubt that Fouquet, having given his word, would not even
think of failing to keep it, but he had thought it most likely that
Fouquet would turn his (D'Artagnan's) absence to the best advantage in
getting rid of all the papers, memorandums, and contracts, which might
possibly render his position, which was even now serious enough, still
more dangerous than ever. And so, lifting up his head, like a dog who
gains the scent, he perceived a certain odor resembling smoke, which he
fully relied upon finding in the atmosphere, and having found it, he
made a movement of his head in token of satisfaction. When D'Artagnan
had entered, Fouquet had, on his side, raised his head, and not one of
D'Artagnan's movements had escaped him. And then the looks of the two
men met, and they both saw that they had understood each other without
exchanging a syllable.

"Well!" asked Fouquet, the first to speak, "and M. d'Herblay?"

"Upon my word, monseigneur," replied D'Artagnan, "M. d'Herblay must be
desperately fond of walks by night, and composing verses by moonlight in
the park of Vaux, with some of your poets, in all probability, for he is
not in his own room."

"What! not in his own room?" cried Fouquet, whose last hope had thus
escaped him; for unless he could ascertain in what way the bishop of
Vannes could assist him, he perfectly well knew that in reality he could
not expect assistance from any one but him.

"Or, indeed," continued D'Artagnan, "if he is in his own room, he has
very good reasons for not answering."

"But surely you did not call him in such a manner that he could have
hea