"A very natural one, monsieur--the Riot."
"The riot on account of what? For, if ever the people of Paris are disposed to pay their court to the king, it is when he hangs financiers."
"I will manage that," said the abbe.
"Yes; but you may manage it badly, and people will guess."
"Not at all,--not at all. I have another idea."
"What is that?"
"My men shall cry out, 'Colbert, vive Colbert!' and shall throw themselves upon the prisoners as if they would tear them in pieces, and shall force them from the gibbets, as too mild a punishment."
"Ah! that is an idea," said Gourville. "Peste! monsieur l'abbe, what an imagination you have!"
"Monsieur, we are worthy of our family," replied the abbe, proudly.
"Strange fellow," murmured Fouquet. Then he added, "That is ingenious. Carry it out, but shed no blood."
Gourville and the abbe set off together, with their heads full of the meditated riot. The superintendent laid himself down upon some cushions, half valiant with respect to the sinister projects of the morrow, half dreaming of love.