“To M. Colbert’s!” said Pellisson, in a hoarse voice.
“Bon Dieu!—begone, begone, monseigneur!” replied the marquise, pushing Fouquet out of the salon, whilst Pellisson dragged him by the hand.
“Am I, then, indeed,” said the superintendent, “become a child, to be frightened by a shadow?”
“You are a giant,” said the marquise, “whom a viper is trying to bite in the heel.”
Pellisson continued to drag Fouquet to the carriage. “To the Palais at full speed!” cried Pellisson to the coachman. The horses set off like lightning; no obstacle relaxed their pace for an instant. Only, at the arcade Saint-Jean, as they were coming out upon the Place de Greve, a long file of horsemen, barring the narrow passage, stopped the carriage of the superintendent. There was no means of forcing this barrier; it was necessary to wait till the mounted archers of the watch, for it was they who stopped the way, had passed with the heavy carriage they were escorting, and which ascended rapidly towards the Place Baudoyer. Fouquet and Pellisson took no further account of this circumstance beyond deploring the minute’s delay they had thus to submit to. They entered the habitation of the concierge du Palais five minutes after. That officer was still walking about in the front court. At the name of Fouquet, whispered in his ear by Pellisson, the governor eagerly approached the carriage, and, hat in his hand, was profuse in his attentions. “What an honor for me, monseigneur,” said he.
“One word, monsieur le gouverneur, will you take the trouble to get into my carriage?” The officer placed himself opposite Fouquet in the coach.
“Monsieur,” said Fouquet, “I have a service to ask of you.”
“Speak, monseigneur.”
“A service that will be compromising for you, monsieur, but which will assure to you forever my protection and my friendship.”
“Were it to cast myself into the fire for you, monseigneur, I would do it.”