Fouquet fixed a most piercing look upon the young girl, and fancied he could perceive in her face nothing but the most unaffected surprise. "I observe," he said, "that you have as much generosity as intelligence, and I read in your eyes the forgiveness I solicit. A pardon pronounced by your lips is insufficient for me, and I need the forgiveness of your heart and mind." "Upon my honor, monsieur," said La Valliere, "I assure you most positively I do not understand your meaning." "Again, that is a delicacy on your part which charms me," replied Fouquet, "and I see you do not wish me to blush before you." "Blush! blush before me? Why should you blush?" "Can I have deceived myself?" said Fouquet; "and can I have been happy enough not to have offended you by my conduct toward you?" "Really, monsieur," said La Valliere, shrugging her shoulders, "you speak in enigmas, and I suppose I am too ignorant to understand you." "Be it so," said Fouquet, "I will not insist. Tell me only, I entreat you, that I may rely upon your full and complete forgiveness." "I have but one reply to make to you, monsieur," said La Valliere, somewhat impatiently, "and I hope that will satisfy you. If I knew the wrong you have done me, I would forgive you, and I would do so with still greater reason since I am ignorant of the wrong you allude to." Fouquet bit his lips, as Aramis would have done. "In that case," he said, "I may hope that, notwithstanding what has happened, our good understanding will remain undisturbed, and that you will kindly confer the favor upon me of believing in my respectful friendship." La Valliere fancied that she now began to understand, and said to herself, "I should not have believed M. Fouquet so eager to seek the source of a favor so very recent," and then added aloud, "Your friendship, monsieur! you offer me your friendship! The honor, on the contrary, is mine, and I feel overpowered by it." "I am aware," replied Fouquet, "that the friendship of the master may appear more brilliant and desirable than that of the servant, but I assure you the latter will be quite as devoted, quite as faithful, and altogether disinterested." La Valliere bowed, for, in fact, the voice of the surintendant seemed to convey both conviction and real devotion in its tone, and she held out her hand to him, saying, "I believe you." Fouquet eagerly look hold of the young girl's hand. "You see no difficulty, therefore," he added, "in restoring me that unhappy letter?" "What letter?" inquired La Valliere. Fouquet interrogated her with his most searching gaze, as he had already done before, but the same innocent expression, the same candid look, met his. "I am obliged to confess," he said, after this denial, "that your system is the most delicate in the world, and I should not feel I was a man of honor and uprightness if I were to suspect anything from a woman so generous as yourself."