“You have a boat of your own, nevertheless?”
“I have five; but they are all in port, or at Paimboeuf; and to join them, or bring them hither, would require at least twenty-four hours. Have I any occasion to send a courier? Must I do so?”
“Wait a little, put an end to the fever,—wait till to-morrow.”
“That is true. Who knows but that by to-morrow we may not have a hundred other ideas?” replied Fouquet, now perfectly convinced and very pale.
The king started, and stretched his hand out towards his little bell, but Fouquet prevented his ringing.
“Sire,” said he, “I have an ague—I am trembling with cold. If I remain a moment longer, I shall most likely faint. I request your majesty’s permission to go and fling myself beneath the bedclothes.”
“Indeed, you are in a shiver; it is painful to behold! Come, Monsieur Fouquet, begone! I will send to inquire after you.”
“Your majesty overwhelms me with kindness. In an hour I shall be better.”
“I will call some one to reconduct you,” said the king.
“As you please, sire; I would gladly take the arm of any one.”