“What is this, monsieur, and what is the meaning of this jest?”
“It is no jest,” replied in a deep voice the masked figure that held the lantern.
“Do you belong to M. Fouquet?” inquired the king, greatly astonished at his situation.
“It matters very little to whom we belong,” said the phantom; “we are your masters now, that is sufficient.”
The king, more impatient than intimidated, turned to the other masked figure. “If this is a comedy,” he said, “you will tell M. Fouquet that I find it unseemly and improper, and that I command it should cease.”
The second masked person to whom the king had addressed himself was a man of huge stature and vast circumference. He held himself erect and motionless as any block of marble. “Well!” added the king, stamping his foot, “you do not answer!”
“We do not answer you, my good monsieur,” said the giant, in a stentorian voice, “because there is nothing to say.”
“At least, tell me what you want,” exclaimed Louis, folding his arms with a passionate gesture.
“You will know by and by,” replied the man who held the lamp.
“In the meantime tell me where I am.”