“I am hospitable towards all who are dwellers beneath my roof,” continued Fouquet, with an air of inexpressible majesty; “you will not be more fatally lost than he whose ruin you have consummated.”
“You will be so,” said Aramis, in a hoarse, prophetic voice, “you will be so, believe me.”
“I accept the augury, Monsieur d’Herblay; but nothing shall prevent me, nothing shall stop me. You will leave Vaux—you must leave France; I give you four hours to place yourself out of the king’s reach.”
“Four hours?” said Aramis, scornfully and incredulously.
“Upon the word of Fouquet, no one shall follow you before the expiration of that time. You will therefore have four hours’ advance of those whom the king may wish to dispatch after you.”
“Four hours!” repeated Aramis, in a thick, smothered voice.
“It is more than you will need to get on board a vessel and flee to Belle-Isle, which I give you as a place of refuge.”
“Ah!” murmured Aramis.
“Belle-Isle is as much mine for you, as Vaux is mine for the king. Go, D’Herblay, go! as long as I live, not a hair of your head shall be injured.”
“Thank you,” said Aramis, with a cold irony of manner.