"Oh!" cried Fouquet, suddenly, dashing his fist upon the table.
"Well! what? what is the matter?"
"I am procureur-general no longer."
Aramis at this reply became as livid as death; he pressed his hands together convulsively, and with a wild, haggard look, which almost annihilated Fouquet, he said, laying a stress upon every distinct syllable, "You are procureur-general no longer, do you say?"
"No."
"Since when?"
"Since the last four or five hours."
"Take care," interrupted Aramis, coldly; "I do not think you are in the full possession of your senses, my friend; collect yourself."
"I tell you," returned Fouquet, "that a little while ago, some one came to me, brought by my friends, to offer me fourteen hundred thousand francs for the appointment, and that I sold the appointment."
Aramis looked as if he had been thunder-stricken; the intelligent and mocking expression of his countenance assumed an aspect of such profound gloom and terror that it had more effect upon the surintendant that all the exclamations and speeches in the world. "You had need of money then?" he said, at last.