“Gourville!—Gourville!” cried he, while slipping his watch into his pocket. And the bell sounded again, whilst Fouquet repeated, “Gourville!—Gourville!”
Gourville at length appeared, breathless and pale.
“Let us be gone! Let us be gone!” cried Fouquet, as soon as he saw him.
“It is too late!” said the surintendant’s poor friend.
“Too late!—why?”
“Listen!” And they heard the sounds of trumpets and drums in front of the castle.
“What does that mean, Gourville?”
“It means the king is come, monseigneur.”
“The king!”
“The king, who has ridden double stages, who has killed horses, and who is eight hours in advance of all our calculations.”