"Yes; you promised me millions."
"You shall have them the day after the king's entrée into Vaux."
Fouquet looked closely at Aramis, and passed his icy hand across his moistened brow. Aramis perceived that the surintendant either doubted him, or felt he was powerless to obtain the money. How could Fouquet suppose that a poor bishop, ex-abbe, ex-musketeer, could find any?
"Why doubt me?" said Aramis. Fouquet smiled and shook his head.
"Man of little faith!" added the bishop.
"My dear M. d'Herblay," answered Fouquet, "if I fall—"
"Well; if you 'fall'?"
"I shall, at least, fall from such a height that I shall shatter myself in falling." Then giving himself a shake, as though to escape from himself, "Whence come you," said he, "my friend?"
"From Paris—from Percerin."
"And what have you been doing at Percerin's, for I suppose you attach no such great importance to our poets' dresses?"