weight of this immense secret. Aramis approached him.

“There is a further inequality,” he said, continuing his work of temptation, “an inequality which concerns yourself, monseigneur, between the twins, both sons of Louis XIII., namely, the last comer does not know M.

Colbert.”

Fouquet raised his head immediately — his features were pale and distorted. The bolt had hit its mark — not his heart, but his mind and comprehension.

“I understand you,” he said to Aramis; “you are proposing a conspiracy to me?”

“Something like it.”

“One of those attempts which, as you said at the beginning of this conversation, alters the fate of empires?”