The clerk, a little put out by the serious air of the captain, replied, that "that was a very respectable reason, but that the customs of the house were respectable likewise; and that, in consequence, he begged the bearer to call again next day." D'Artagnan asked if he could not see M. Fouquet. The clerk replied that M. le Surintendant did not interfere with such details; and rudely closed the outer door in D'Artagnan's face. But the latter had foreseen this stroke, and placed his boot between the door and the door-case, so that the lock did not catch, and the clerk was still nose to nose with his interlocutor. This made him change his tone, and say, with terrified politeness, "If monsieur wishes to speak to M. le Surintendant, he must go to the antechambers; these are the offices, where monseigneur never comes."
"Oh! very well! Where are they?" replied D'Artagnan.
"On the other side of the court," said the clerk, delighted at being free.
D'Artagnan crossed the court, and fell in with a crowd of servants.
"Monseigneur sees nobody at this hour," he was answered by a fellow carrying a vermeil dish, in which were three pheasants and twelve quails.
"Tell him," said the captain, laying hold of the servant by the end of his dish, "that I am M. d'Artagnan, captain of his majesty's musketeers."
The fellow uttered a cry of surprise and disappeared; D'Artagnan following him slowly. He arrived just in time to meet M. Pellisson in the antechamber; the latter, a little pale, came hastily out of the dining-room to learn what was the matter. D'Artagnan smiled.
"There is nothing unpleasant, Monsieur Pellisson; only a little order to receive the money for."
"Ah!" said Fouquet's friend, breathing more freely; and he took the captain by the hand, and, dragging him behind him, led him into the dining-room, where a number of friends surrounded the surintendant, placed in the center, and buried in the cushions of a fauteuil. There were assembled all the Epicureans who so lately at Vaux did the honors of the mansion of wit and money of M. Fouquet. Joyous friends, for the most part faithful, they had not fled their protector at the approach of the storm, and, in spite of the threatening heavens, in spite of the trembling earth, they remained there, smiling, cheerful, as devoted to misfortune as they had been to prosperity. On the left of the surintendant was Madame de Belliere; on his right was Madame Fouquet; as if braving the laws of the world, and putting all vulgar reasons of propriety to silence, the two protecting angels of this man united to offer him, at the moment of the crisis, the support of their intertwined arms. Madame de Belliere was pale, trembling, and full of respectful attentions for Madame la Surintendante, who, with one hand on the hand of her husband, was looking anxiously toward the door by which Pellisson had gone out to bring in D'Artagnan. The captain entered at first full of courtesy, and afterward of admiration, when, with his infallible glance, he had divined as well as taken in the expression of every face. Fouquet raised himself up in his chair.
"Pardon me, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he, "if I did not come to receive you when coming in the king's name." And he pronounced the last words with a sort of melancholy firmness, which filled the hearts of his friends with terror.