“For your grace,” said the lackey in a low tone, handing Aramis a letter. And as the lackey carried a torch in his hand, he placed himself between the superintendent and the bishop of Vannes, so that both of them could read at the same time. As Fouquet looked at the fine and delicate writing on the envelope, he started with delight. Those who love, or who are beloved, will understand his anxiety in the first place, and his happiness in the next. He hastily tore open the letter, which, however, contained only these words: “It is but an hour since I quitted you, it is an age since I told you how much I love you.” And that was all. Madame de Belliere had, in fact, left Fouquet about an hour previously, after having passed two days with him; and apprehensive lest his remembrance of her might be effaced for too long a period from the heart she regretted, she dispatched a courier to him as the bearer of this important communication. Fouquet kissed the letter, and rewarded the bearer with a handful of gold. As for Aramis, he, on his side, was engaged in reading, but with more coolness and reflection, the following letter: “The king has this evening been struck with a strange fancy; a woman loves him. He learned it accidentally, as he was listening to the conversation of this young girl with her companions; and his majesty has entirely abandoned himself to his new caprice. The girl’s name is Mademoiselle de la Vallière, and she is sufficiently pretty to warrant this caprice becoming a strong attachment. Beware of Mademoiselle de la Vallière.” There was not a word about Madame. Aramis slowly folded the letter and put it in his pocket. Fouquet was still delightedly inhaling the perfume of his epistle. “Monseigneur,” said Aramis, touching Fouquet’s arm. “Yes, what is it?” he asked. “An idea has just occurred to me. Are you acquainted with a young girl of the name of La Vallière? “Not at all.” “Reflect a little.” “Ah! yes, I believe so; one of Madame’s maids of honor.” “That must be the one.” “Well, what then?” “Well, monseigneur, it is to that young girl that you must pay your visit this evening.” “Bah! why so?” “Nay, more than that, it is to her you must present your cameos.” “Nonsense.” “You know, monseigneur, that my advice is not to be regarded lightly.” “But this is unforeseen--” “That is my affair. Pay your court in due form, and without loss of time, to Mademoiselle de la Vallière. I will be your guarantee with Madame de Belliere that your devotion is altogether politic.” “What do you mean, my dear D’Herblay, and whose name have you just pronounced?” “A name which ought to convince you that, as I am so well informed about yourself, I may possibly be just as well informed about others. Pay your court, therefore, to La Vallière.” “I will pay my court to whomsoever you like,” replied Fouquet, his heart filled with happiness.