"What! do you suppose—?"
"I suppose that, from some motive, of which we know nothing, your man did not deliver the letter to her."
Fouquet rang the bell. A servant appeared. "Send Toby here," he said. A moment afterward a man made his appearance, with an anxious restless look, shrewd expression of the mouth, with short arms, and his back somewhat bent. Aramis fixed a penetrating look upon him.
"Will you allow me to interrogate him myself?" inquired Aramis.
"Do so," said Fouquet.
Aramis was about to say something to the lackey, when he paused.
"No," he said; "he would see that we attach too much importance to his answer, question him yourself; I will pretend to write." Aramis accordingly placed himself at a table, his back turned toward the old attendant, whose every gesture and look he watched in a looking-glass opposite to him.
"Come here, Toby," said Fouquet to the valet, who approached with a tolerably firm step. "How did you execute my commission?" inquired Fouquet.
"In the usual way, monseigneur," replied the man.
"But how, tell me?"