zed by Anne of Austria, he would still have
been a son for her. The usurper, as far as Monsieur d'Herblay's
conscience was concerned, was still a king of the blood of Louis XIII.
Moreover, the conspirator, in that course, would have had security,
secrecy, and impunity. A pistol-bullet would have procured him all that.
For the sake of Heaven, sire, grant me his forgiveness."

The king, instead of being touched by the picture he had drawn, so
faithful in all its details, of Aramis' generosity, felt himself most
painfully and cruelly humiliated by it. His unconquerable pride revolted
at the idea that a man had held suspended at the end of his finger the
thread of his royal life. Every word that fell from Fouquet's lips, and
which he thought most efficacious in procuring his friend's pardon,
seemed to pour another drop of poison into the already ulcerated heart
of Louis XIV. Nothing could bend or soften him. Addressing himself to
Fouquet, he said, "I really don't know, monsieur, why you should solicit
the pardon of these men. What good is there in asking that which can be
obtained without solicitation?"

"I do not understand you, sire."

"It is not difficult either. Where am I now?"

"In the Bastille, sire."

"Yes; in a dungeon. I am looked upon as a madman, am I not?"

"Yes, sire."

"And no one is known here but Marchiali?"

"Certainly."

"Well; change nothing in the position of affairs. Let the madman rot in
the dungeon of the Bastille, and M. d'Herblay and M. de Valon will stand
in no need of my forgiveness. Their new king will absolve them."

"Your majesty does me a great injustice, sire, and you are wrong,"
replied Fouquet, dryly; "I am not child enough, nor is M. d'Herblay
silly enough, to have omitted to make all these inflections; and if I
had wished to make a new king, as you say, I had no occasion to have
come here to force open all the gates and doors of the Bastille, to free
you from this place. That would show a want of common sense even. Your
majesty's mind is disturbed by anger; otherwise you would be far from
offending, groundlessly, the very one of your servants who has rendered
you the most important service of all."

Louis perceived that he had gone too far, that the gates of the Bastille
were still closed upon him; while, by degrees, the flood-gates were
gradually being opened, behind which the generous-hearted Fouquet had
restrained his anger. "I did not say that to humiliate you, Heaven
k