“Her devotion to the queen is known, and they wish either to remove her from her mistress, or to intimidate her, in order to obtain her Majesty’s secrets, or to seduce her and make use of her as a spy.”
“That is all very probable,” said D’Artagnan; “but the man who has carried her off—do you know him?”
“I have told you that I believe I know him.”
“His name?”
“I do not know that. What I do know is that he is a creature of the cardinal’s, his ready tool.”
“But you have seen him?”
“Yes, my wife pointed him out to me one day.”
“Has he anything remarkable about him by which he may be recognized?”
“Oh, certainly. He is a noble of lofty carriage, black hair, swarthy complexion, piercing eye, white teeth, and a scar on his temple.”
“A scar on his temple!” cried D’Artagnan; “and also white teeth, a piercing eye, dark complexion, black hair, and haughty carriage. Why, that’s my man of Meung.”
“He is your man, do you say?”
“Yes, yes; but that has nothing to do with it. No I am mistaken. It simplifies the matter greatly, on the contrary. If your man is mine, with one blow I shall obtain two revenges, that’s all. But where is this man to be met with?”
“I cannot inform you.”
“Have you no information respecting his dwelling?”
“None. One day, as I was conveying my wife back to the Louvre, he was coming out as she was going in, and she showed him to me.”
“The devil, the devil!” murmured D’Artagnan. “All this is vague enough. From whom did you learn the abduction of your wife?”
“From M. de la Porte.”
“Did he give you any of the particulars?”
“He knew none himself.”
“And you have learned none from any other quarter?”
“Yes, I have received——”
“What?”
“I fear I am committing a great imprudence.”
“You still keep harping upon that; but I beg leave to observe to you that this time it is too late to retreat.”
“I do not retreat, ’sdeath!” cried the bourgeois, swearing to keep his courage up. “Besides, by the word of Bonacieux——”
“Your name is Bonacieux?” interrupted D’Artagnan.
“Yes, that is my name.”
“You said, then, by the word of Bonacieux! Pardon me for interrupting you, but it appears to me that that name is familiar to me.”
“Very possibly, sir. I am your landlord.”
“Ah, ah!” said D’Artagnan, half rising and bowing; “you are my landlord?”
“Yes, sir, yes. And as it is three months since you came, and, engaged as you must be in your important occupations, you have forgotten to pay me my rent—as, I say, I have not tormented you a single instant, I thought you would appreciate my delicacy.”
“How can it be otherwise, my dear Bonacieux?” replied D’Artagnan. “Believe me, I am wholly grateful for such conduct; and if, as I have told you, I can be of any service to you——”
“And then I thought that owing me three months’ rent, which I have said nothing about——”
“Yes, yes; you have already given me that reason, and I find it excellent.”
“And, besides, considering that as long as you do me the honour to remain in my house I shall never speak to you about your future rent——”
“Very good!”
“And adding to this, if necessary, that I mean to offer you fifty pistoles, if, against all probability, you should be short at the present moment.”
“Admirable! But you are rich, then, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux?”
“I am comfortably off, sir, that’s all. I have scraped together something like an income of two or three thousand crowns in the haber-dashery business, and especially by investing some capital in the last voyage of the celebrated navigator Jean Mocquet; so that you understand, sir. But——” cried the bourgeois.
“What?” demanded D’Artagnan.
“Whom do I see yonder?”
“Where?”
“In the street, in front of your window, on the sill of that door—a man wrapped in a cloak.”
“It is he!” cried D’Artagnan and the bourgeois, each at the same time having recognized his man.
“Ah, this time,” cried D’Artagnan, leaping towards his sword—“this time he shall not escape me!”
Drawing his sword from the sheath, he rushed out of the apartment.
On the staircase he met Athos and Porthos, who were coming to see him. They separated, and D’Artagnan rushed between them like an arrow.
“Where the devil are you going?” cried the two musketeers in a breath.
“The man of Meung!” replied D’Artagnan, and disappeared.
D’Artagnan had more than once related to his friends his adventure with the unknown, as well as the apparition of the beautiful foreigner, to whom this man had confided some important letter.
They understood, then, from the few words which escaped from D’Artagnan, what affair was in hand; and as they thought that after having overtaken his man or lost sight of him D’Artagnan would return to his rooms again, they kept on their way.
When they entered D’Artagnan’s chamber it was empty. The landlord, dreading the consequences of the meeting which was doubtless about to take place between the young man and the unknown, had, consistently with the character he had given himself, judged it most prudent to decamp.
