You will leave Vaux--you must leave France; I give you four hours to place yourself out of the king's reach." "Four hours ?" said Aramis, scornfully and incredulously.
"Upon the word of Fouquet, no one shall follow you before the expiration of that time.

You will therefore have four hours' advance of those whom the king may wish to dispatch after you." "Four hours!" repeated Aramis, in a thick, smothered voice.
"It is more than you will need to get on board a vessel and flee to Belle-Isle, which I give you as a place of refuge." "Ah!" murmured Aramis.
"Belle-Isle is as much mine for you, as Vaux is mine for the king.
Go, D'Herblay, go! as long as I live, not a hair of your head shall be injured." "Thank you," said Aramis, with a cold irony of manner.
"Go at once, then, and give me your hand, before we both hasten away; you to save your life, I to save my honor." Aramis withdrew from his breast the hand he had concealed there; it was stained with his blood.

He had dug his nails into his flesh, as if in punishment for having nursed so many projects, more vain, insensate, and fleeting than the life of the man himself.

Fouquet was horror-stricken, and then his heart smote him with pity.

He threw open his arms as if to embrace him.
"I had no arms," murmured Aramis, as wild and terrible in his wrath as the shade of Dido.