He then applied the tip of his finger to the nail parallel to the one he had drawn.  Immediately the glass moved like a folding-door and discovered a secret closet, rather deep, into which the superintendent disappeared as if going into a vast box.  When there, he touched another spring, which opened, not a board, but a block of the wall, and he went out by that opening, leaving the door to shut of itself.  Then Fouquet descended about a score of steps which sank, winding, underground, and came to a long, subterranean passage, lighted by imperceptible loopholes.  The walls of this vault were covered with slabs or tiles, and the floor with carpeting.  This passage was under the street itself, which separated Fouquet’s house from the Park of Vincennes.  At the end of the passage ascended a winding staircase parallel with that by which Fouquet had entered.  He mounted these other stairs, entered by means of a spring placed in a closet similar to that in his cabinet, and from this closet an untenanted chamber furnished with the utmost elegance.  As soon as he entered, he examined carefully whether the glass closed without leaving any trace, and, doubtless satisfied with his observation, he opened by means of a small gold key the triple fastenings of a door in front of him.  This time the door opened upon a handsome cabinet, sumptuously furnished, in which was seated upon cushions a lady of surpassing beauty, who at the sound of the lock sprang towards Fouquet.  “Ah! good heavens!” cried the latter, starting back with astonishment.  “Madame la Marquise de Belliere, you here?”

“Yes,” murmured la marquise.  “Yes; it is I, monsieur.”

“Marquise! dear marquise!” added Fouquet, ready to prostrate himself.  “Ah! my God! how did you come here?  And I, to keep you waiting!”

“A long time, monsieur; yes, a very long time!”

“I am happy in thinking this waiting has appeared long to you, marquise!”

“Oh! an eternity, monsieur; oh!  I rang more than twenty times.  Did you not hear me?”

“Marquise, you are pale, you tremble.”

“Did you not hear, then, that you were summoned?”

“Oh, yes; I heard plainly enough, madame; but I could not come.  After your rigors and your refusals, how could I dream it was you?  If I could have had any suspicion of the happiness that awaited me, believe me, madame, I would have quitted everything to fall at your feet, as I do at this moment.”

“Are we quite alone, monsieur?” asked the marquise, looking round the room.

“Oh, yes, madame, I can assure you of that.”

“Really?” said the marquise, in a melancholy tone.

“You sigh!” said Fouquet.

“What mysteries! what precautions!” said the marquise, with a slight bitterness of expression; “and how evident it is that you fear the least suspicion of your amours to escape.”

“Would you prefer their being made public?”