“It ill becomes you, monsieur, to give your king a lesson,” said Anne of Austria; “better procure for him forty millions to replace those you make him lose.”
“The king shall have them whenever he wishes,” said the superintendent of finances, bowing.
“Yes, by oppressing the people,” said the queen.
“And were they not oppressed, madame,” replied Fouquet, “when they were made to sweat the forty millions given by this deed? Furthermore, his majesty has asked my opinion, I have given it; if his majesty ask my concurrence, it will be the same.”
“Nonsense! accept, my son, accept,” said Anne of Austria. “You are above reports and interpretations.”
“Refuse, sire,” said Fouquet. “As long as a king lives, he has no other measure but his conscience,—no other judge than his own desires; but when dead, he has posterity, which applauds or accuses.”
“Thank you, mother,” replied Louis, bowing respectfully to the queen. “Thank you, Monsieur Fouquet,” said he, dismissing the superintendent civilly.
“Do you accept?” asked Anne of Austria, once more.
“I shall consider of it,” replied he, looking at Fouquet.