“Ah! indeed,” said Colbert, expanding. “A mass of people cried, ‘Vive Colbert!’ Are you certain of what you say, monsieur?” “We had nothing to do but open our ears, or rather to close them, so terrible were the cries.” “And this was from the people, the real people?” “Certainly, monsieur; only these real people beat us.” “Oh! very well,” continued Colbert, thoughtfully. “Then you suppose it was the people alone who wished to burn the condemned?” “Oh! yes, monsieur.” “That is quite another thing. You strongly resisted, then?” “We had three of our men crushed to death, monsieur!” “But you killed nobody yourselves?” “Monsieur, a few of the rioters were left upon the square, and one among them who was not a common man.” “Who was he?” “A certain Menneville, upon whom the police have a long time had an eye.” “Menneville!” cried Colbert, “what, he who killed Rue de la Huchette, a worthy man who wanted a fat fowl?” “Yes, monsieur; the same.” “And did this Menneville also cry, ‘Vive Colbert’?” “Louder than all the rest, like a madman.” Colbert’s brow grew dark and wrinkled. A kind of ambitious glory which had lighted his face was extinguished, like the light of glow-worms we crush beneath the grass. “Then you say,” resumed the deceived intendant, “that the initiative came from the people? Menneville was my enemy, I would have had him hung, and he knew it well. Menneville belonged to the Abbe Fouquet—the affair originated with Fouquet; does not everybody know that the condemned were his friends from childhood?” “That is true,” thought D’Artagnan, “and thus are all my doubts cleared up. I repeat it, Monsieur Fouquet many be called what they please, but he is a very gentlemanly man.” “And,” continued Colbert, “are you quite sure Menneville is dead?” D’Artagnan thought the time was come for him to make his appearance. “Perfectly, monsieur;” replied he, advancing suddenly. “Oh! is that you, monsieur?” said Colbert. “In person,” replied the musketeer with his deliberate tone; “it appears that you had in Menneville a pretty enemy.” “It was not I, monsieur, who had an enemy,” replied Colbert; “it was the king.” “Double brute!” thought D’Artagnan, “to think to play the great man and the hypocrite with me. Well,” continued he to Colbert, “I am very happy to have rendered so good a service to the king; will you take upon you to tell his majesty, monsieur l’intendant?” “What commission is this you give me, and what do you charge me to tell his majesty, monsieur? Be precise, if you please,” said Colbert, in a sharp voice, tuned beforehand to hostility. “I give you no commission,” replied D’Artagnan, with that calmness which never abandons the banterer; “I thought it would be easy for you to announce to his majesty that it was I who, being there by chance, did justice upon Menneville and restored things to order.”