Aramis became perfectly purple. “Vanel!” he cried, rising abruptly from his seat; “Vanel! the husband of Marguerite Vanel?”
“Exactly.”
“Of your former mistress?”
“Yes, my dear fellow; she is anxious to be the wife of the procureur-general. I certainly owed poor Vanel that slight concession, and I am a gainer by it; since I, at the same time, can confer a pleasure on his wife.”
Aramis walked straight up to Fouquet, and took hold of his hand. “Do you know,” he said, very calmly, “the name of Madame Vanel’s new lover?”
“Ah! she has a new lover, then? I was not aware of it; no, I have no idea what his name is.”
“His name is M. Jean-Baptiste Colbert; he is intendant of the finances: he lives in the Rue Croix des Petits-Champs, where Madame de Chevreuse has been this evening to take him Mazarin’s letters, which she wishes to sell.”
“Gracious Heaven!” murmured Fouquet, passing his hand across his forehead, from which the perspiration was starting.
“You now begin to understand, do you not?”
“That I am utterly lost!—yes.”