Chapter XXXVIII.

Friendly Advice.
Fouquet had gone to bed, like a man who clings to life, and wishes to economize, as much as possible, that slender tissue of existence, of which the shocks and frictions of this world so quickly wear out the tenuity.

D'Artagnan appeared at the door of this chamber, and was saluted by the superintendent with a very affable "Good day." "_Bon jour!_ monseigneur," replied the musketeer; "how did you get through the journey ?" "Tolerably well, thank you." "And the fever ?" "But poorly.

I drink, as you perceive.

I am scarcely arrived, and I have already levied a contribution of _tisane_ upon Nantes." "You should sleep first, monseigneur." "Eh! _corbleu!_ my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, I should be very glad to sleep." "Who hinders you ?" "Why, _you_ in the first place." "I?
Oh, monseigneur!" "No doubt you do.