"No, Monsieur Fouquet."
"Not to me, the surintendant of the finances?"
"Rest yourself, I beg you; that is all I have to say to you."
Fouquet bit his lips and hung down his head. He was evidently busy with some uneasy thought. This uneasiness struck the king. "Are you angry at having to rest yourself, M. Fouquet?" said he.
"Yes, sire, I am not accustomed to take rest."
"But you are ill; you must take care of yourself."
"Your majesty spoke just now of a speech to be pronounced to-morrow."
His majesty made no reply; this unexpected stroke embarrassed him. Fouquet felt the weight of this hesitation. He thought he could read a danger in the eyes of the young prince, which his fear would precipitate.
"If I appear frightened, I am lost," thought he.
The king, on his part, was only uneasy at the alarm of Fouquet. "Has he a suspicion of anything?" murmured he.