“You are sure there is nobody there?” said the stranger.
“I will answer for it,” said Bonacieux.
“And you think that your wife—”
“Has returned to the Louvre.”
“Without speaking to anyone but yourself?”
“I am sure of it.”
“That is an important point, do you understand?”
“Then the news I brought you is of value?”
“The greatest, my dear Bonacieux; I don’t conceal this from you.”
“Then the cardinal will be pleased with me?”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“The great cardinal!”
“Are you sure, in her conversation with you, that your wife mentioned no names?”
“I think not.”
“She did not name Madame de Chevreuse, the Duke of Buckingham, or Madame de Vernet?”
“No; she only told me she wished to send me to London to serve the interests of an illustrious personage.”
“The traitor!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux.
“Silence!” said d’Artagnan, taking her hand, which, without thinking of it, she abandoned to him.
“Never mind,” continued the man in the cloak; “you were a fool not to have pretended to accept the mission. You would then be in present possession of the letter. The state, which is now threatened, would be safe, and you—”
“And I?”
“Well you—the cardinal would have given you letters of nobility.”
“Did he tell you so?”
“Yes, I know that he meant to afford you that agreeable surprise.”
“Be satisfied,” replied Bonacieux; “my wife adores me, and there is yet time.”
“The ninny!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux.
“Silence!” said d’Artagnan, pressing her hand more closely.
“How is there still time?” asked the man in the cloak.
“I go to the Louvre; I ask for Mme. Bonacieux; I say that I have reflected; I renew the affair; I obtain the letter, and I run directly to the cardinal.”
“Well, go quickly! I will return soon to learn the result of your trip.”
The stranger went out.
“Infamous!” said Mme. Bonacieux, addressing this epithet to her husband.
“Silence!” said d’Artagnan, pressing her hand still more warmly.
A terrible howling interrupted these reflections of d’Artagnan and Mme. Bonacieux. It was her husband, who had discovered the disappearance of the moneybag, and was crying “Thieves!”
“Oh, my God!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, “he will rouse the whole quarter.”
Bonacieux called a long time; but as such cries, on account of their frequency, brought nobody in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and as lately the mercer’s house had a bad name, finding that nobody came, he went out continuing to call, his voice being heard fainter and fainter as he went in the direction of the Rue du Bac.
“Now he is gone, it is your turn to get out,” said Mme. Bonacieux. “Courage, my friend, but above all, prudence, and think what you owe to the queen.”
“To her and to you!” cried d’Artagnan. “Be satisfied, beautiful Constance. I shall become worthy of her gratitude; but shall I likewise return worthy of your love?”
The young woman only replied by the beautiful glow which mounted to her cheeks. A few seconds afterward d’Artagnan also went out enveloped in a large cloak, which ill-concealed the sheath of a long sword.
Mme. Bonacieux followed him with her eyes, with that long, fond look with which he had turned the angle of the street, she fell on her knees, and clasping her hands, “Oh, my God,” cried she, “protect the queen, protect me!”
Chapter 19 PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
D’Artagnan went straight to M. de Treville’s. He had reflected that in a few minutes the cardinal would be warned by this cursed stranger, who appeared to be his agent, and he judged, with reason, he had not a moment to lose.
The heart of the young man overflowed with joy. An opportunity presented itself to him in which there would be at the same time glory to be acquired, and money to be gained; and as a far higher encouragement, it brought him into close intimacy with a woman he adored. This chance did, then, for him at once more than he would have dared to ask of Providence.
M. de Treville was in his saloon with his habitual court of gentlemen. D’Artagnan, who was known as a familiar of the house, went straight to his office, and sent word that he wished to see him on something of importance.
D’Artagnan had been there scarcely five minutes when M. de Treville entered. At the first glance, and by the joy which was painted on his countenance, the worthy captain plainly perceived that something new was on foot.
All the way along d’Artagnan had been consulting with himself whether he should place confidence in M. de Treville, or whether he should only ask him to give him CARTE BLANCHE for some secret affair. But M. de Treville had always been so thoroughly his friend, had always been so devoted to the king and queen, and hated the cardinal so cordially, that the young man resolved to tell him everything.
“Did you ask for me, my good friend?” said M. de Treville.
“Yes, monsieur,” said d’Artagnan, lowering his voice, “and you will pardon me, I hope, for having disturbed you when you know the importance of my business.”
“Speak, then, I am all attention.”
“It concerns nothing less,” said d’Artagnan, “than the honor, perhaps the life of the queen.”
“What did you say?” asked M. de Treville, glancing round to see if they were surely alone, and then fixing his questioning look upon d’Artagnan.
“I say, monsieur, that chance has rendered me master of a secret—”
“Which you will guard, I hope, young man, as your life.”
“But which I must impart to you, monsieur, for you alone can assist me in the mission I have just received from her Majesty.”
“Is this secret your own?”
“No,
