signature.”
“The king has made M. Colbert intendant.”
“Oh!” cried Fouquet, as if he caught a glimpse of the abyss that yawned beneath his feet, “impossible! impossible! But who passed a pencil over the marks made by Colbert?”
“I did. I was afraid the first would be effaced.”
“Oh! I will know all.”
“You will know nothing, monsieur; you despise your enemy too much for that.”
“Pardon me, my dear marquise; excuse me; yes, M. Colbert is my enemy, I believe him to be so; yes, M. Colbert is a man to be dreaded, I admit. But I! I have time, and as you are here, as you have assured me of your devotion, as you have allowed me to hope for your love, as we are alone —