"It is very simple. I see him occasionally, and a short time ago I met him walking about on the Place de la Bastille, at the very moment when I was about to take the small carriage to come down here to Saint-Mandé."
"He must have been watching his wife," interrupted Loret.
"Oh, no!" said La Fontaine, "he is far from being jealous. He accosted me, embraced me, and took me to the inn called 'L'Image Saint-Fiacre,' and told me all about his troubles."
"He has his troubles, then?"
"Yes; his wife wants to make him ambitious."
"Well, and he told you—"
"That some one had spoken to him about a post in parliament: that M. Fouquet's name had been mentioned; that ever since Madame Vanel dreams of nothing else but being called Madame la Procureuse-Generale, and that it makes her ill and keeps her awake every night she does not dream of it."
"The deuce!"
"Poor woman!" said Fouquet.
"Wait a moment. Conrart is always telling me that I do not know how to conduct matters of business; you will see how I manage this one."