“Oh!” cried Fouquet, suddenly, dashing his fist upon the table.
“Well! what? what is the matter?”
“I am procureur-general no longer.”
Aramis, at this reply, became as livid as death; he pressed his hands together convulsively, and with a wild, haggard look, which almost annihilated Fouquet, he said, laying a stress on every distinct syllable, “You are procureur-general no longer, do you say?”
“No.”
“Since when?”
“Since the last four or five hours.”
“Take care,” interrupted Aramis, coldly; “I do not think you are in the full possession of your senses, my friend; collect yourself.”