“Lyodot, yesterday at daybreak; D’Eymeris, the day before yesterday, in the evening, as he was returning from the house of his mistress; their disappearance had disturbed nobody; but at length M. Colbert all at once raised the mask, and caused the affair to be published; it is being cried by sound of trumpet, at this moment in Paris, and, in truth, monseigneur, there is scarcely anybody but yourself ignorant of the event.” Fouquet began to walk about his chamber with an uneasiness that became more and more serious. “What do you decide upon, monseigneur?” said Gourville. “If it really were as you say, I would go to the king,” cried Fouquet. “But as I go to the Louvre, I will pass by the Hotel de Ville. We shall see if the sentence is signed.” “Incredulity! thou art the pest of all great minds,” said Gourville, shrugging his shoulders. “Gourville!” “Yes,” continued he, “and incredulity! thou ruinest, as contagion destroys the most robust health, that is to say, in an instant.” “Let us go,” cried Fouquet; “desire the door to be opened, Gourville.” “Be cautious,” said the latter, “the Abbe Fouquet is there.” “Ah! my brother,” replied Fouquet, in a tone of annoyance, “he is there, is he? he knows all the ill news, then, and is rejoiced to bring it to me, as usual. The devil! if my brother is there, my affairs are bad, Gourville; why did you not tell me that sooner: I should have been the more readily convinced.” “‘Monseigneur calumniates him,” said Gourville, laughing, “if he is come, it is not with a bad intention.” “What, do you excuse him?” cried Fouquet; “a fellow without a heart, without ideas; a devourer of wealth.” “He knows you are rich.” “And would ruin me.” “No, but he would like to have your purse. That is all.” “Enough! enough! A hundred thousand crowns per month, during two years. Corbleu! it is I that pay, Gourville, and I know my figures.” Gourville laughed in a silent, sly manner. “Yes, yes, you mean to say it is the king pays,” said the superintendent. “Ah, Gourville, that is a vile joke; this is not the place.” “Monseigneur, do not be angry.” “Well, then, send away the Abbe Fouquet; I have not a sou.” Gourville made a step towards the door. “He has been a month without seeing me,” continued Fouquet, “why could he not be two months?” “Because he repents of living in bad company,” said Gourville, “and prefers you to all his bandits.” “Thanks for the preference! You make a strange advocate, Gourville, to-day—the advocate of the Abbe Fouquet!” “Eh! but everything and every man has a good side—their useful side, monseigneur.” “The bandits whom the abbe keeps in pay and drink have their useful side, have they? Prove that, if you please.” “Let the circumstance arise, monseigneur, and you will be very glad to have these bandits under your hand.” “You advise me, then, to be reconciled to the abbe?” said Fouquet, ironically.