already bitterly
enough, to a feeling still more than ever to be dreaded in that young
man? To have robbed him, is nothing; to have addressed the woman he
loves, is not much; but to hold in your keeping both his crown and his
honor, why, he would rather pluck out your heart with his own hands."

"You have not allowed him to penetrate your secret, then?"

"I would sooner, far sooner, have swallowed at one draught all the
poisons that Mithridates drank in twenty years, in order to try and
avoid death, than have betrayed my secret to the king."

"What have you done, then?"

"Ah! now we are coming to the point, monseigneur. I think I shall not
fail to excite a little interest in you. You are listening, I hope?"

"How can you ask me if I am listening? Go on."

Aramis walked softly all round the room, satisfied himself that they
were alone, and that all was silent, and then returned and placed
himself close to the armchair in which Fouquet was seated, awaiting with
the deepest anxiety the revelations he had to make.

"I forgot to tell you," resumed Aramis, addressing himself to Fouquet,
who listened to him with the most absorbed attention--"I forgot to
mention a most remarkable circumstance respecting these twins, namely,
that God had formed them so startlingly, so miraculously, like each
other, that it would be utterly impossible to distinguish the one from
the other. Their own mother would not be able to distinguish them."

"Is it possible?" exclaimed Fouquet.

"The same noble character in their features, the same carriage, the same
stature, the same voice."

"But their thoughts? degree of intelligence; their knowledge of human
life?"

"There is inequality there, I admit, monseigneur. Yes; for the prisoner
of the Bastille is, most incontestable, superior in every way to his
brother; and if, from his prison, this unhappy victim were to pass to
the throne, France would not, from the earliest period of its history,
perhaps, have had a master more powerful by his genius and true
nobleness of character."

Fouquet buried his face in his hands, as if he were overwhelmed by the
weight of this immense secret. Aramis approached him.

"There is a further inequality," he said, continuing his work of
temptation, "an inequality which concerns yourself, monseigneur, between
the twins, both sons of Louis XIII., namely, the last comer does not
know M. Colbert."

Fouquet raised his head immediately--his features were pale a