Fouquet bit his lips, as Aramis would have done. "In that case," he said, "I may hope that, notwithstanding what has happened, our good understanding will remain undisturbed, and that you will kindly confer the favor upon me of believing in my respectful friendship."
La Valliere fancied that she now began to understand, and said to herself, "I should not have believed M. Fouquet so eager to seek the source of a favor so very recent," and then added aloud, "Your friendship, monsieur! you offer me your friendship! The honor, on the contrary, is mine, and I feel overpowered by it."
"I am aware," replied Fouquet, "that the friendship of the master may appear more brilliant and desirable than that of the servant, but I assure you the latter will be quite as devoted, quite as faithful, and altogether disinterested."
La Valliere bowed, for, in fact, the voice of the surintendant seemed to convey both conviction and real devotion in its tone, and she held out her hand to him, saying, "I believe you."
Fouquet eagerly look hold of the young girl's hand. "You see no difficulty, therefore," he added, "in restoring me that unhappy letter?"
"What letter?" inquired La Valliere.
Fouquet interrogated her with his most searching gaze, as he had already done before, but the same innocent expression, the same candid look, met his. "I am obliged to confess," he said, after this denial, "that your system is the most delicate in the world, and I should not feel I was a man of honor and uprightness if I were to suspect anything from a woman so generous as yourself."
"Really, Monsieur Fouquet," replied La Valliere, "it is with profound regret I am obliged to repeat that I absolutely understand nothing of what you refer to."
"In fact, then, upon your honor, mademoiselle, you have not received any letter from me?"
"Upon my honor, none," replied La Valliere, firmly.