nd
distorted. The bolt had hit its mark--not his heart, but his mind and
comprehension.

"I understand you," he said to Aramis; "you are proposing a conspiracy
to me?"

"Something like it."

"One of those attempts, which, as you said at the beginning of this
conversation, alters the fate of empires?"

"And of the surintendant too; yes, monseigneur."

"In a word, you propose that I should agree to the substitution of the
son of Louis XIII., who is now a prisoner in the Bastille, for the son
of Louis XIII., who is now at this moment asleep in the Chamber of
Morpheus?"

Aramis smiled with the sinister expression of the sinister thought which
was passing through his brain. "Exactly," he said.

"Have you thought," Fouquet then continued, becoming animated with that
strength of talent which in a few seconds originates and matures the
conception of a plan, and with that largeness of view which foresees all
its consequences, and embraces all its results at a glance--"have you
thought that we must assemble the nobility, the clergy, and the third
estate of the realm; that we shall have to depose the reigning
sovereign, to disturb by so frightful a scandal the tomb of their dead
father, to sacrifice the life, the honor of a woman, Anne of Austria,
the life and peace of mind and heart of another woman, Maria Theresa;
and suppose that all were done, if we were to succeed in doing it--"

"I do not understand you," continued Aramis coldly. "There is not a
single word of the slightest use in what you have just said."

"What!" said the surintendant, surprised, "a man like you refuse to view
the practical bearings of the case. Do you confine yourself to the
childish delight of a political illusion, and neglect the chances of its
being carried into execution; in other words, the reality itself, is it
possible?"

"My friend," said Aramis, emphasizing the word with a kind of disdainful
familiarity, "what does Heaven do in order to substitute one king for
another?"

"Heaven!" exclaimed Fouquet--"Heaven gives directions to its agent, who
seizes upon the doomed victim, hurries him away, and seats the
triumphant rival on the empty throne. But you forget that this agent is
called death. Oh! Monsieur d'Herblay, in Heaven's name, tell me, if you
have had the idea--"

"There is no question of that, monseigneur; you are going beyond the
object in view. Who spoke of Louis XIV.'s death? who spoke of adopting
the example which Heaven s