“I said three days, because I wish to deceive myself with a hope; but probably the catastrophe will be complete within twenty-four hours.”
“Why so?”
“For the simplest of all reasons,—that M. Fouquet has no more money.”
“In matters of finance, my dear Marguerite, some are without money to-day, who to-morrow can procure millions.”
“That might be M. Fouquet’s case when he had two wealthy and clever friends who amassed money for him, and wrung it from every possible or impossible source; but those friends are dead.”
“Money does not die, Marguerite; it may be concealed, but it can be looked for, sought and found.”
“You see things on the bright side, and so much the better for you. It is really very unfortunate that you are not the Egeria of M. Fouquet; you might now show him the source whence he could obtain the millions which the king asked him for yesterday.”
“Millions!” said the marquise, in terror.
“Four—an even number.”
“Infamous!” murmured Madame de Belliere, tortured by her friend’s merciless delight.