"If his first word is severe," again thought Fouquet; "if he becomes angry, or feigns to be angry for the sake of a pretext, how shall I extricate myself? Let us smooth the declivity a little. Gourville was right."
"Sire," said he suddenly, "since the goodness of the king watches over my health to the point of dispensing with my labor, may I not be allowed to be absent from the council of to-morrow? I could pass the day in bed, and will entreat the king to grant me his physician, that we may endeavor to find a remedy against this cursed fever."
"So be it, Monsieur Fouquet, as you desire; you shall have a holiday to-morrow, you shall have the physician, and shall be restored to health."
"Thanks!" said Fouquet, bowing. Then, opening his game:
"Shall I not have the happiness of conducting your majesty to my residence of Belle-Isle?"
And he looked Louis full in the face, to judge of the effect of such a proposal. The king blushed again.
"Do you know," replied he, endeavoring to smile, "that you have just said—'My residence of Belle-Isle'?"
"Yes, sire."
"Well! do you not remember," continued the king in the same cheerful tone, "that you gave me Belle-Isle?"
"That is true again, sire. Only as you have not taken it, you will come with me and take possession of it."