“You will find in him,” continued Philippe, “the depth and penetration of M. de Richelieu, without the avarice of M. de Mazarin!”
“A prime minister, sire?” said Monsieur, in a fright.
“I will tell you all about that, brother; but it is strange that M. d’Herblay is not here!”
He called out:
“Let M. Fouquet be informed that I wish to speak to him—oh! before you, before you; do not retire!”
M. de Saint-Aignan returned, bringing satisfactory news of the queen, who only kept her bed from precaution, and to have strength to carry out the king’s wishes. Whilst everybody was seeking M. Fouquet and Aramis, the new king quietly continued his experiments, and everybody, family, officers, servants, had not the least suspicion of his identity, his air, his voice, and manners were so like the king’s. On his side, Philippe, applying to all countenances the accurate descriptions and key-notes of character supplied by his accomplice Aramis, conducted himself so as not to give birth to a doubt in the minds of those who surrounded him. Nothing from that time could disturb the usurper. With what strange facility had Providence just reversed the loftiest fortune of the world to substitute the lowliest in its stead! Philippe admired the goodness of God with regard to himself, and seconded it with all the resources of his admirable nature. But he felt, at times, something like a specter gliding between him and the rays of his new glory. Aramis did not appear. The conversation had languished in the royal family; Philippe, preoccupied, forgot to dismiss his brother and Madame Henrietta. The latter were astonished, and began, by degrees, to lose all patience. Anne of Austria stooped towards her son’s ear and addressed some words to him in Spanish. Philippe was completely ignorant of that language, and grew pale at this unexpected obstacle. But, as if the spirit of the imperturbable Aramis had covered him with his infallibility, instead of appearing disconcerted, Philippe rose. “Well! what?” said Anne of Austria.
“What is all that noise?” said Philippe, turning round towards the door of the second staircase.
And a voice was heard saying, “This way, this way! A few steps more, sire!”
“The voice of M. Fouquet,” said D’Artagnan, who was standing close to the queen-mother.
“Then M. d’Herblay cannot be far off,” added Philippe.