“Ah!” said Fouquet, with the reserve of a man who does not wish to ask any more questions.
“And you shall judge of it yourself,” pursued Aramis; “and you shall tell me if I am mistaken with regard to the importance of this secret.”
“I am listening, since you are good enough to unbosom yourself to me; only do not forget that I have asked you about nothing which it may be indiscreet in you to communicate.”
Aramis seemed, for a moment, as if he were collecting himself.
“Do not speak!” said Fouquet: “there is still time enough.”
“Do you remember,” said the bishop, casting down his eyes, “the birth of Louis XIV.?”
“As if it were yesterday.”
“Have you ever heard anything particular respecting his birth?”
“Nothing; except that the king was not really the son of Louis XIII.”
“That does not matter to us, or the kingdom either; he is the son of his father, says the French law, whose father is recognized by law.”