“I beg your pardon,” said Vanel, “that is a rough draft of the deed.”

“I see that very clearly,” retorted Aramis, with a smile more cutting than a lash of a whip; “and what I admire most is, that this draft is in M. Colbert’s handwriting. Look, monseigneur, look.”

And he handed the draft to Fouquet, who recognized the truth of the fact; for, covered with erasures, with inserted words, the margins filled with additions, this deed — a living proof of Colbert’s plot — had just revealed everything to its unhappy victim. “Well!” murmured Fouquet.

Vanel, completely humiliated, seemed as if he were looking for some hole wherein to hide himself.