Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; France -- History -- Louis XIV, 1643-1715 -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Swordsmen -- Fiction
“Let us not deceive ourselves, monseigneur; we are very much opposed to
paying the Bastile a visit,” added the prelate, displaying, beneath
his pale lips, teeth which were still the same beautiful teeth so much
admired thirty years previously by Marie Michon.
“And you think it is not too much to pay one hundred and fifty thousand
francs for that? I thought you generally put out money at better
interest than that.”
“The day will come when you will admit your mistake.”
“My dear D’Herblay, the very day on which a man enters the Bastile, he
is no longer protected by his past.”
“Yes, he is, if the bonds are perfectly regular; besides, that good
fellow Baisemeaux has not a courtier’s heart. I am certain, my lord,
that he will not remain ungrateful for that money, without taking into
account, I repeat, that I retain the acknowledgements.”
“It is a strange affair! usury in a matter of benevolence.”
“Do not mix yourself up with it, monseigneur; if there be usury, it is
I who practice it, and both of us reap the advantage from it--that is
all.”
“Some intrigue, D’Herblay?”
“I do not deny it.”
“And Baisemeaux an accomplice in it?”
“Why not?--there are worse accomplices than he. May I depend, then, upon
the five thousand pistoles to-morrow?”
“Do you want them this evening?”
“It would be better, for I wish to start early; poor Baisemeaux will not
be able to imagine what has be become of me, and must be upon thorns.”
“You shall have the amount in an hour. Ah, D’Herblay, the interest
of your one hundred and fifty thousand francs will never pay my four
millions for me.”
“Why not, monseigneur?”
“Good-night, I have business to transact with my clerks before I
retire.”
“A good night’s rest, monseigneur.”
“D’Herblay, you wish things that are impossible.”
“Shall I have my fifty thousand francs this evening?”
“Yes.”
“Go to sleep, then, in perfect safety--it is I who tell you to do so.”
Notwithstanding this assurance, and the tone in which it was given,
Fouquet left the room shaking his head, and heaving a sigh.
Chapter XXIII. M. Baisemeaux de Montlezun’s Accounts.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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