[A Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandra Dumas]@TWC D-Link bookA Man in the Iron Mask ChapterLIV 11/13
The hand of your majesty strikes like the hand of God.
When the Lord sends the curse of leprosy or pestilence into a family, every one flies and shuns the abode of the leprous or plague-stricken. Sometimes, but very rarely, a generous physician alone ventures to approach the ill-reputed threshold, passes it with courage, and risks his life to combat death.
He is the last resource of the dying, the chosen instrument of heavenly mercy.
Sire, we supplicate you, with clasped hands and bended knees, as a divinity is supplicated! Madame Fouquet has no longer any friends, no longer any means of support; she weeps in her deserted home, abandoned by all those who besieged its doors in the hour of prosperity; she has neither credit nor hope left. At least, the unhappy wretch upon whom your anger falls receives from you, however culpable he may be, his daily bread though moistened by his tears.
As much afflicted, more destitute than her husband, Madame Fouquet--the lady who had the honor to receive your majesty at her table--Madame Fouquet, the wife of the ancient superintendent of your majesty's finances, Madame Fouquet has no longer bread." Here the mortal silence which had chained the breath of Pelisson's two friends was broken by an outburst of sobs; and D'Artagnan, whose chest heaved at hearing this humble prayer, turned round towards the angle of the cabinet to bite his mustache and conceal a groan. The king had preserved his eye dry and his countenance severe; but the blood had mounted to his cheeks, and the firmness of his look was visibly diminished. "What do you wish ?" said he, in an agitated voice. "We come humbly to ask your majesty," replied Pelisson, upon whom emotion was fast gaining, "to permit us, without incurring the displeasure of your majesty, to lend to Madame Fouquet two thousand pistoles collected among the old friends of her husband, in order that the widow may not stand in need of the necessaries of life." At the word _widow_, pronounced by Pelisson whilst Fouquet was still alive, the king turned very pale;--his pride disappeared; pity rose from his heart to his lips; he cast a softened look upon the men who knelt sobbing at his feet. "God forbid," said he, "that I should confound the innocent with the guilty.
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