“Come, let us begin the attack,” said the young king resolutely.
“Be cautious for Heaven’s sake. To begin the attack, and with D’Artagnan, would be madness. D’Artagnan knows nothing, he has seen nothing; he is a hundred miles from suspecting our mystery in the slightest degree, but if he comes into this room the first this morning, he will be sure to detect something of what has taken place, and which he would imagine it his business to occupy himself about. Before we allow D’Artagnan to penetrate into this room, we must air the room thoroughly, or introduce so many people into it, that the keenest scent in the whole kingdom may be deceived by the traces of twenty different persons.”
“But how can I send him away, since I have given him a rendezvous?” observed the prince, impatient to measure swords with so redoubtable an antagonist.
“I will take care of that,” replied the bishop, “and in order to begin, I am going to strike a blow which will completely stupefy our man.”
“He, too, is striking a blow, for I hear him at the door,” added the prince, hurriedly.
And, in fact, a knock at the door was heard at that moment. Aramis was not mistaken; for it was indeed D’Artagnan who adopted that mode of announcing himself.
We have seen how he passed the night in philosophizing with M. Fouquet, but the musketeer was very weary even of feigning to fall asleep, and as soon as earliest dawn illumined with its gloomy gleams of light the sumptuous cornices of the superintendent’s room, D’Artagnan rose from his armchair, arranged his sword, brushed his coat and hat with his sleeve, like a private soldier getting ready for inspection.
“Are you going out?” said Fouquet.
“Yes, monseigneur. And you?”
“I shall remain.”