“I see that very clearly,” retorted Aramis, with a smile more cutting than a lash of a whip; “and what I admire most is, that this draft is in M. Colbert’s handwriting. Look, monseigneur, look.”
And he handed the draft to Fouquet, who recognized the truth of the fact; for, covered with erasures, with inserted words, the margins filled with additions, this deed—a living proof of Colbert’s plot—had just revealed everything to its unhappy victim. “Well!” murmured Fouquet.
Vanel, completely humiliated, seemed as if he were looking for some hole wherein to hide himself.
“Well!” said Aramis, “if your name were not Fouquet, and if your enemy’s name were not Colbert—if you had not this mean thief before you, I should say to you, ‘Repudiate it;’ such a proof as this absolves you from your word; but these fellows would think you were afraid; they would fear you less than they do; therefore sign the deed at once.” And he held out a pen towards him.
Fouquet pressed Aramis’s hand; but, instead of the deed which Vanel handed to him, he took the rough draft of it.
“No, not that paper,” said Aramis, hastily; “this is the one. The other is too precious a document for you to part with.”
“No, no!” replied Fouquet; “I will sign under M. Colbert’s own handwriting even; and I write, ‘The handwriting is approved of.’” He then signed, and said, “Here it is, Monsieur Vanel.” And the latter seized the paper, dashed down the money, and was about to make his escape.
“One moment,” said Aramis. “Are you quite sure the exact amount is there? It ought to be counted over, Monsieur Vanel; particularly since M. Colbert makes presents of money to ladies, I see. Ah, that worthy M. Colbert is not so generous as M. Fouquet.” And Aramis, spelling every word, every letter of the order to pay, distilled his wrath and his contempt, drop by drop, upon the miserable wretch, who had to submit to this torture for a quarter of an hour. He was then dismissed, not in words, but by a gesture, as one dismisses or discharges a beggar or a menial.
As soon as Vanel had gone, the minister and the prelate, their eyes fixed on each other, remained silent for a few moments.
“Well,” said Aramis, the first to break the silence; “to what can that man be compared, who, at the very moment he is on the point of entering into a conflict with an enemy armed from head to foot, panting for his life, presents himself for the contest utterly defenseless, throws down his arms, and smiles and kisses his hands to his adversary in the most gracious manner? Good faith, M. Fouquet, is a weapon which scoundrels frequently make use of against men of honor, and it answers their purpose. Men of honor, ought, in their turn, also, to make use of dishonest means against such scoundrels. You would soon see how strong they would become, without ceasing to be men of honor.”