These last words flashed conviction on the mind of Fouquet, who immediately perceived the wonderful address of Pélisson, and the generosity of his soul. He perceived that his secretary, firm and unshaken in his friendship, had burned his papers, and had conceived the design--the only one that could be possibly adopted--of becoming the accuser, in order to gain admittance to his inaccessible prison, that he might make him acquainted with the important service he had rendered him. The intendant, ashamed of his unjust suspicions, and anxious to make amends for them, cast a look on Pélisson, which gave him to understand that he had perfectly understood him, and was penetrated with the most lively sensations of gratitude for his conduct. The secretary, feeling the complete satisfaction at the success of his project, still continued to expose himself to the scorn and indignation of the public. Considered as the basest of mankind, he experienced every species of insult; while conscious integrity insured to him that serenity of soul, which was regarded as the hardened effrontery of a mind wholly callous to shame. It was not till some time after that the truth came to be known. The scene then changed. Pélisson became the object of general admiration, and of enthusiastic esteem, that bordered on veneration; but he still preserved the same serenity of mind, and displayed the same indifference to merited praise, as he had before shewn to unmerited censure. Whenever his friends expatiated on his unshaken firmness, and extraordinary heroism, the worthy stoic replied--“That man must appear of little consequence in his own eyes, whose moral existence depends merely on the opinion of others! It is our place to fix a just value on ourselves before others attempt to appreciate us. I did but fulfil my duty in serving a man to whom I did not chuse to be an impotent or useless friend: the title of friend imposes on those who bear it essential obligations, which I have endeavoured to discharge; I have given more than my life: I have suffered myself to be polluted by the imputation of vice and dishonour; because it was the only means of serving the friend I loved. What made me amends for the mean opinion which the public entertained of me?--The good opinion I entertained of myself. That paid me amply for the effects of prejudice which was founded in injustice. Virtue is but mental fortitude; and I exerted the whole of mine, to be able to brave the opinion of all mankind. You now see, there are occasions which require a man to raise himself above that _solemn_ judgment to which every human being must generally submit. You must permit me, however, to give you one piece of advice. Another time be less prompt to decide on the merits of a man who enjoys some reputation for probity; and be assured, that he can never be on a sudden converted into the vilest of rogues. The friend of Fouquet could not act in a manner so contrary to his natural disposition.”