"It is impossible, I tell you, that the honor, the virtue of my mother can be suspected. And my first minister has not yet done justice on the criminals?"
"Reflect, sire, before you are hurried away by your anger," replied Fouquet. "The birth of your brother—"
"I have only one brother—and that is Monsieur. You know it as well as myself. There is a plot, I tell you, beginning with the governor of the Bastille."
"Be careful, sire, for this man has been deceived as every one else has by the prince's likeness to yourself."
"Likeness? Absurd!"
"This Marchiali must be singularly like your majesty to be able to deceive every one's eye," Fouquet persisted.
"Ridiculous!"
"Do not say so, sire; those who had prepared everything in order to face and deceive your ministers, your mother, your officers of state, the members of your family, must be quite confident of the resemblance between you."
"But where are these persons, then!" murmured the king.
"At Vaux."