ets in following out the strict execution of
its decrees? No, I wish you to understand that Heaven effects its
purposes without confusion or disturbance, without exciting comment or
remark, without difficulty or exertion; and that men inspired by
Heaven--succeed like Heaven itself in all their undertakings, in all
they attempt, in all they do."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, my _friend_," returned Aramis, with the same intonation on the
word friend that he had applied to it the first time--"I mean that if
there has been any confusion, scandal, and even effort in the
substitution of the prisoner for the king, I defy you to prove it."

"What!" cried Fouquet, whiter than the handkerchief with which he wiped
his temples, "what do you say?"

"Go to the king's apartment," continued Aramis, tranquilly, "and you who
know the mystery, I defy even you to perceive that the prisoner of the
Bastille is lying in his brother's bed."

"But the king?" stammered Fouquet, seized with horror at the
intelligence.

"What king?" said Aramis, in his gentlest tone; "the one who hates you,
or the one who likes you?"

"The king--of yesterday?"

"The king of yesterday! be quite easy on that score; he has gone to take
the place in the Bastille which his victim has occupied for such a long
time past."

"Great God! And who took him there?"

"I!"

"You?"

"Yes; and in the simplest way. I carried him away last night; and while
he was descending into gloom, the other was ascending into light. I do
not think there has been any disturbance created in any way. A flash of
lightning without thunder never awakens any one."

Fouquet uttered a thick, smothered cry, as if he had been struck by some
invisible blow, and clasping his head between his clenched hands, he
murmured: "You did that?"

"Cleverly enough, too; what do you think of it?"

"You dethroned the king? imprisoned him, too?"

"Yes, that has been done."

"And such an action has been committed here at Vaux?"

"Yes, here, at Vaux, in the Chamber of Morpheus. It would almost seem
that it had been built in anticipation of such an act."

"And at what time did it occur?"

"Last night, between twelve and one o'clock."

Fouquet made a movement, as if he were on the point of springing upon
Aramis; he restrained himself. "At Vaux; under my roof!" he said, in a
half-strangled voice.

"I believe so! for it is still your house, and is likely to continue so,
since M. Colbert cannot r