ot but capitulate on the spot."

"We must offer M. Vanel a hundred thousand crowns at once," said
Fouquet, carried away by his generous feelings.

The sum was a good one. A prince, even, would have been satisfied with
such a bonus. A hundred thousand crowns at that period was the dowry of
a king's daughter. Vanel, however, did not move.

"He is a perfect rascal!" thought the bishop; "well, we must offer the
five hundred thousand francs at once!" and he made a sign to Fouquet
accordingly.

"You seem to have spent more than that, dear Monsieur Vanel," said the
surintendant. "The price of money is enormous. You must have made a
great sacrifice in selling your wife's property. Well, what can I have
been thinking of? I ought to have offered to sign you an order for five
hundred thousand francs; and even in that case I shall feel that I am
greatly indebted to you."

There was not a gleam of delight or desire on Vanel's face, which
remained perfectly impassible, not a muscle of it changed in the
slightest degree. Aramis cast a look almost of despair at Fouquet, and
then, going straight up to Vanel and taking hold of him by the coat in a
familiar manner, he said:

"Monsieur Vanel, it is neither the inconvenience nor the displacement of
your money, nor the sale of your wife's property even, that you are
thinking of at this moment; it is something more important still. I can
well understand it; so pay particular attention to what I am going to
say."

"Yes, monseigneur," Vanel replied, beginning to tremble in every limb,
as the prelate's eyes seemed almost ready to devour him.

"I offer you, therefore, in the surintendant's name, not three hundred
thousand livres, nor five hundred thousand, but a million. A million--do
you understand me?" he added, as he shook him nervously.

"A million!" repeated Vanel, as pale as death.

"A million; in other words, at the present rate of interest, an income
of seventy thousand francs!"

"Come, monsieur," said Fouquet, "you can hardly refuse that. Answer--do
you accept?"

"Impossible," murmured Vanel.

Aramis bit his lips, and something like a white cloud seemed to pass
over his face. The thunder behind this cloud could easily be imagined.
He still kept his hold on Vanel. "You have purchased the appointment for
fifteen hundred thousand francs, I think? Well; you will receive these
fifteen hundred thousand francs back again; by paying M. Fouquet a
visit, and shaking hands with him