and pride. This secret which he possessed, this woman whom he loved! Confidence and love made him a giant.
“I go,” said he; “I go at once.”
“How, you will go!” said Mme. Bonacieux; “and your regiment, your captain?”
“By my soul, you had made me forget all that, dear Constance! Yes, you are right; a furlough is needful.”
“Still another obstacle,” murmured Mme. Bonacieux, sorrowfully.
“As to that,” cried d’Artagnan, after a moment of reflection, “I shall surmount it, be assured.”
“How so?”
“I will go this very evening to Treville, whom I will request to ask this favor for me of his brother-in-law, Monsieur Dessessart.”
“But another thing.”
“What?” asked d’Artagnan, seeing that Mme. Bonacieux hesitated to continue.
“You have, perhaps, no money?”
“PERHAPS is too much,” said d’Artagnan, smiling.
“Then,” replied Mme. Bonacieux, opening a cupboard and taking from it the very bag which a half hour before her husband had caressed so affectionately, “take this bag.”
“The cardinal’s?” cried d’Artagnan, breaking into a loud laugh, he having heard, as may be remembered, thanks to the broken boards, every syllable of the conversation between the mercer and his wife.
“The cardinal’s,” replied Mme. Bonacieux. “You see it makes a very respectable appearance.”
“PARDIEU,” cried d’Artagnan, “it will be a double amusing affair to save the queen with the cardinal’s money!”
“You are an amiable and charming young man,” said Mme. Bonacieux. “Be assured you will not find her Majesty ungrateful.”
“Oh, I am already grandly recompensed!” cried d’Artagnan. “I love you; you permit me to tell you that I do—that is already more happiness than I dared to hope.”
“Silence!” said Mme. Bonacieux, starting.
“What!”
“Someone is talking in the street.”
“It is the voice of—”
“Of my husband! Yes, I recognize it!”
D’Artagnan ran to the door and pushed the bolt.
“He shall not come in before I am gone,” said he; “and when I am gone, you can open to him.”
“But I ought to be gone, too. And the disappearance of his money; how am I to justify it if I am here?”
“You are right; we must go out.”
“Go out? How? He will see us if we go out.”
“Then you must come up into my room.”
“Ah,” said Mme. Bonacieux, “you speak that in a tone that frightens me!”
Mme. Bonacieux pronounced these words with tears in her eyes. d’Artagnan saw those tears, and much disturbed, softened, he threw himself at her feet.
“With me you will be as safe as in a temple; I give you my word of a gentleman.”
“Let us go,” said she, “I place full confidence in you, my friend!”
D’Artagnan drew back the bolt with precaution, and both, light as shadows, glided through the interior door into the passage, ascended the stairs as quietly as possible, and entered d’Artagnan’s chambers.
Once there, for greater security, the young man barricaded the door. They both approached the window, and through a slit in the shutter they saw Bonacieux talking with a man in a cloak.
At sight of this man, d’Artagnan started, and half drawing his sword, sprang toward the door.
It was the man of Meung.
“What are you going to do?” cried Mme. Bonacieux; “you will ruin us all!”
“But I have sworn to kill that man!” said d’Artagnan.
“Your life is devoted from this moment, and does not belong to you. In the name of the queen I forbid you to throw yourself into any peril which is foreign to that of your journey.”
“And do you command nothing in your own name?”
“In my name,” said Mme. Bonacieux, with great emotion, “in my name I beg you! But listen; they appear to be speaking of me.”
D’Artagnan drew near the window, and lent his ear.
M. Bonacieux had opened his door, and seeing the apartment, had returned to the man in the cloak, whom he had left alone for an instant.
“She is gone,” said he; “she must have returned to the Louvre.”
“You are sure,” replied the stranger, “that she did not suspect the intentions with which you went out?”
“No,” replied Bonacieux, with a self-sufficient air, “she is too superficial a woman.”
“Is the young Guardsman at home?”
“I do not think he is; as you see, his shutter is closed, and you can see no light shine through the chinks of the shutters.”
“All the same, it is well to be certain.”
“How so?”
“By knocking at his door. Go.”
“I will ask his servant.”
Bonacieux reentered the house, passed through the same door that had afforded a passage for the two fugitives, went up to d’Artagnan’s door, and knocked.
No one answered. Porthos, in order to make a greater display, had that evening borrowed Planchet. As to d’Artagnan, he took care not to give the least sign of existence.
The moment the hand of Bonacieux sounded on the door, the two young people felt their hearts bound within them.
“There is nobody within,” said Bonacieux.
“Never mind. Let us return to your apartment. We shall be safer there than in the doorway.”
“Ah, my God!” whispered Mme. Bonacieux, “we shall hear no more.”
“On the contrary,” said d’Artagnan, “we shall hear better.”
D’Artagnan
