“It was I who was appointed to examine the accounts of the superintendent, sire.”
“Ah!” said Louis, who was about to dismiss Colbert, but whom that word stopped; “ah! it was you whom his eminence had charged to control M. Fouquet, was it? And the result of that examination?”
“Is that there is a deficit, sire; but if your majesty will permit me—”
“Speak, M. Colbert.”
“I ought to give your majesty some explanations.”
“Not at all, monsieur, it is you who have controlled these accounts; give me the result.”
“That is very easily done, sire: emptiness everywhere, money nowhere.”
“Beware, monsieur; you are roughly attacking the administration of M. Fouquet, who, nevertheless, I have heard say, is an able man.”
Colbert colored, and then became pale, for he felt that from that minute he entered upon a struggle with a man whose power almost equaled the sway of him who had just died. “Yes, sire, a very able man,” repeated Colbert, bowing.
“But if M. Fouquet is an able man, and, in spite of that ability, if money be wanting, whose fault is it?”