he retook, with his head hanging down and a cloud over his brow, the path of the subterranean passage along which ran the metal wires that communicated from one house to the other, transmitting, through two glasses, the wishes and signals of two correspondents.
CHAPTER LV.
THE ABBÉ FOUQUET.
Fouquet hastened back to his apartment by the subterranean passage, and immediately closed the mirror with the spring. He was scarcely in his closet when he heard some one knocking violently at the door, and a well-known voice crying:
"Open the door, monseigneur, I entreat you, open the door!"
Fouquet quickly restored a little order to everything which might reveal either his absence or his agitation; he spread his papers over the desk, took up a pen, and, to gain time, said, through the closed door:
"Who are you?"
"What, monseigneur, do you not know me?" replied the Voice.
"Yes, yes," said Fouquet to himself, "yes, my friend, I know you well enough." And then, aloud: "Is it not Gourville?"
"Why, yes, monseigneur."
Fouquet arose, cast a last look at one of his glasses, went to the door, pushed the bolt, and Gourville entered.
"Ah, monseigneur! monseigneur!" cried he, "what cruelty!"
"In what?"
"I have been a quarter of an hour imploring you to open the door, and you would not even answer me."
"Once for all, you know that I will not be disturbed when I am busy. Now, although I might make you an exception, Gourville, I insist upon my orders being respected by others."
"Monseigneur, at this moment, orders, doors, bolts, locks, and walls, I could have broken, overthrown, and split them all!"
"Ah! ah! it relates to some great event, then?" asked Fouquet.
