ob you of it now."

"It was under my roof, then, monsieur, that you committed this crime?"

"This crime!" said Aramis, stupefied.

"This abominable crime!" pursued Fouquet, becoming more and more
excited; "this crime more execrable than an assassination! this crime
which dishonors my name forever, and entails upon me the horror of
posterity."

"You are not in your senses, monsieur," replied Aramis, in an irresolute
tone of voice; "you are speaking too loudly; take care!"

"I will call out so loudly, that the whole world shall hear me."

"Monsieur Fouquet, take care!"

Fouquet turned round toward the prelate, whom he looked at full in the
face. "You have dishonored me," he said, "in committing so foul an act
of treason, so heinous a crime upon my guest, upon one who was
peacefully reposing beneath my roof. Oh! woe, woe, is me!"

"Woe to the man, rather, who beneath your roof meditated the ruin of
your fortune, your life. Do you forget that?"

"He was my guest, my sovereign."

Aramis rose, his eyes literally bloodshot, his mouth trembling
convulsively.

"Have I a man out of his senses to deal with?" he said.

"You have an honorable man to deal with."

"You are mad."

"A man who will prevent you consummating your crime."

"You are mad, I say."

"A man who would sooner, oh! far sooner die; who would kill you even,
rather than allow you to complete his dishonor."

And Fouquet snatched up his sword, which D'Artagnan had placed at the
head of his bed, and clenched it resolutely in his hand. Aramis frowned,
and thrust his hand into his breast, as if in search of a weapon. This
movement did not escape Fouquet, who, full of nobleness and pride in his
magnanimity, threw his sword to a distance from him, and approached
Aramis so close as to touch his shoulder with his disarmed hand.
"Monsieur," he said, "I would sooner die here on the spot than survive
this terrible disgrace; and if you have any pity left for me I entreat
you to take my life."

Aramis remained silent and motionless.

"You do not reply?" said Fouquet.

Aramis raised his head gently, and a glimmer of hope might be seen once
more to animate his eyes. "Reflect, monseigneur," he said, "upon
everything we have to expect. As the matter now stands, the king is
still alive, and his imprisonment saves your life."

"Yes," replied Fouquet, "you may have been acting on my behalf, but I
will not, do not, accept your services. But, first of all, I do no