"Oh! I assure you it does, monseigneur," replied Gourville.
"And what is this event?" said Fouquet, a little troubled by the evident agitation of his most intimate confidant.
"There is a secret chamber of justice instituted, monseigneur."
"I know there is; but do the members meet, Gourville?"
"They not only meet, but they have passed a sentence, monseigneur."
"A sentence?" said the surintendant, with a shudder and pallor he could not conceal. "A sentence! and against whom?"
"Against two of your friends."
"Lyodot and D'Eymeris, do you mean? But what sort of a sentence?"
"Sentence of death."
"Passed? Oh! you must be mistaken, Gourville; that is impossible."
"Here is a copy of the sentence which the king is to sign to-day, if he has not already signed it." Fouquet seized the paper eagerly, read it, and returned it to Gourville. "The king will never sign that," said he.
Gourville shook his head.
"Monseigneur, Monsieur Colbert is a bold councilor; do not trust to that."
"Monsieur Colbert again!" cried Fouquet. "How is it that that name rises upon all occasions to torment my fears during the last two or three days? You make so trifling a subject of too much importance, Gourville. Let Monsieur Colbert appear, I will face him; let him raise his head, and I will crush him; but, you understand, there must be an asperity upon which my look may fall, there must be a surface upon which my feet may be placed."
"Patience, monseigneur; for you do not know what Colbert is — study him quickly; it is with this dark financier as it is with meteors, which the eye never sees completely before their disastrous invasion; when we feel them we are dead."
"Oh! Gourville, that is going too far," replied Fouquet, smiling; "allow me, my friend, not to be so easily frightened; Monsieur Colbert a meteor! Corbleu! we confront the meteor. Let us see acts, and not words. What has he done?"
"He has ordered two gibbets of the executioner of Paris," answered Gourville.
