“What shall I say to the king?”
“Nothing; give him Belle-Isle.”
“Oh! Monsieur d’Herblay! Monsieur d’Herblay,” cried Fouquet, “what projects crushed all at once!”
“After one project that has failed, there is always another project that may lead to fortune; we should never despair. Go, monsieur, and go at once.”
“But that garrison, so carefully chosen, the king will change it directly.”
“That garrison, monsieur, was the king’s when it entered Belle-Isle; it is yours now; it is the same with all garrisons after a fortnight’s occupation. Let things go on, monsieur. Do you see any inconvenience in having an army at the end of a year, instead of two regiments? Do you not see that your garrison of to-day will make you partisans at La Rochelle, Nantes, Bordeaux, Toulouse—in short, wherever they may be sent to? Go to the king, monsieur; go; time flies, and D’Artagnan, while we are losing time, is flying, like an arrow, along the high-road.”
“Monsieur d’Herblay, you know that each word from you is a germ which fructifies in my thoughts. I will go to the Louvre.”
“Instantly, will you not?”
“I only ask time to change my dress.”
“Remember that D’Artagnan has no need to pass through Saint-Mande; but will go straight to the Louvre; that is cutting off an hour from the advantage that yet remains to us.”