"Will you take the trouble to write?" said Aramis, holding a pen toward him, which Fouquet took, saying:
"I will write at your dictation. My head is so taken up in another direction that I should not be able to write a couple of lines."
"Very well," said Aramis, "write."
And he dictated as follows: "I have seen, and you will not be surprised to learn, how beautiful I have found you. But, for want of the position you merit at the court, your presence there is a waste of time. The devotion of a man of honor, should ambition of any kind inspire you, might possibly serve as a means of display for your talents and beauty. I place my devotion at your feet; but, as an affection, however reserved and unpresuming it may be, might possibly compromise the object of its worship, it would ill-become a person of your merit running the risk of being compromised, without her future being insured. If you would deign to accept and reply to my affection, my affection shall prove its gratitude to you in making you free and independent forever." Having finished writing, Fouquet looked at Aramis.
"Sign it," said the latter.
"Is it absolutely necessary?"
"Your signature at the foot of that letter is worth a million; you forget that." Fouquet signed.
"Now, by whom do you intend to send the letter?" asked Aramis.
"By an excellent servant of mine."
"Can you rely on him?"