"Wait a little; put an end to the fever—wait till to-morrow."
"That is true; who knows but that by to-morrow we may not have a hundred other ideas?" replied Fouquet, now perfectly convinced, and very pale.
The king started, and stretched his hand out toward his little bell, but Fouquet prevented his ringing.
"Sire," said he, "I have an ague—I am trembling with cold. If I remain a moment longer, I shall most likely faint. I request your majesty's permission to go and conceal myself beneath the bedclothes."
"Indeed, you are all in a shiver; it is painful to behold! Come, M. Fouquet, begone! I will send to inquire after you."
"Your majesty overwhelms me with kindness. In an hour I shall be better."
"I will call some one to reconduct you," said the king.
"As you please, sire; I would gladly take the arm of any one."
"M. d'Artagnan!" cried the king, ringing his little bell.
"Oh! sire," interrupted Fouquet, laughing in such a manner as made the prince feel cold, "would you give me the captain of your musketeers to take me to my lodgings? A very equivocal kind of honor that, sire! A simple footman, I beg."