Chapter 63 - Page 2

blush before _me!_ Why should you blush?"

"Can I have deceived myself," said Fouquet; "and can I have been happy
enough not to have offended you by my conduct towards you?"

"Really, monsieur," said La Valliere, shrugging her shoulders, "you speak
in enigmas, and I suppose I am too ignorant to understand you."

"Be it so," said Fouquet; "I will not insist. Tell me, only, I entreat
you, that I may rely upon your full and complete forgiveness."

"I have but one reply to make to you, monsieur," said La Valliere,
somewhat impatiently, "and I hope that will satisfy you. If I knew the
wrong you have done me, I would forgive you, and I now do so with still
greater reason since I am ignorant of the wrong you allude to."

Fouquet bit his lips, as Aramis would have done. "In that case," he
said, "I may hope, that, notwithstanding what has happened, our good
understanding will remain undisturbed, and that you will kindly confer
the favor upon me of believing in my respectful friendship."

La Valliere fancied that she now began to understand, and said to
herself, "I should not have believed M. Fouquet so eager to seek the
source of a favor so very recent," and then added aloud, "Your
friendship, monsieur! you offer me your friendship. The honor, on the
contrary, is mine, and I feel overpowered by it."

"I am aware," replied Fouquet, "that the friendship of the master may
appear more brilliant and desirable than that of the servant; but I
assure you the latter will be quite as devoted, quite as faithful, and
altogether disinterested."

La Valliere bowed, for, in fact, the voice of the superintendent seemed
to convey both conviction and real devotion in its tone, and she held out
her hand to him, saying, "I believe you."

Fouquet eagerly took hold of the young girl's hand. "You see no
difficulty, therefore," he added, "in restoring me that unhappy letter."

"What letter?" inquired La Valliere.

Fouquet interrogated her with his most searching gaze, as he had already
done before, but the same ingenious expressions, the same transparently
candid look met his. "I am obliged to confess," he said, after this
denial, "that your heart is the most delicate in the world, and I should
not feel I was a man of honor and uprightness if I were to suspect
anything from a woman so generous as yourself."

"Really, Monsieur Fouquet," replied La Valliere, "it is with profound
regret I am obliged to repeat that I absolutely understand nothing of
what you refer to."

"In fact, then, upon your honor, mademoiselle, you have not received any
letter from me?"

"Upon my honor, none," replied La Valliere, firmly.

"Very well, that is quite sufficient; permit me, then, to renew the