“Ah, madame,” said D’Artagnan, as he entered by the door which the young woman had opened for him, “allow me to tell you that you have a sorry husband there.”
“Then you overheard our conversation?” asked Madame Bonacieux eagerly, and looking at D’Artagnan with much uneasiness.
“The whole of it.”
“But, my God! how could you do that?”
“By a method known to myself, and by which I likewise overheard the more animated conversation which you had with the cardinal’s bailiffs.”
“And what did you understand by what we said?”
“A thousand things. In the first place, that, fortunately, your husband is a simpleton and a fool. In the next place, that you are in trouble, of which I am very glad, as it gives me an opportunity of placing myself at your service; and God knows I am ready to throw myself into the fire for you. And that the queen wants a brave, intelligent, devoted man to make a journey to London for her. I have, at least, two of the three qualities you stand in need of, and here I am.”
Madame Bonacieux made no reply, but her heart beat with joy, and a secret hope shone in her eyes.
“And what pledge can you give me,” asked she, “if I consent to confide this message to you?”
“My love for you. Speak! command! What must I do?”
“But this secret is not mine, and I cannot reveal it in this manner.”
“Why, you were going to confide it to M. Bonacieux,” said D’Artagnan in vexation.
“As we confide a letter to the hollow of a tree, to the wing of a pigeon, or the collar of a dog.”
“And yet—you see plainly that I love you.”
“You say so.”
“I am an honourable man.”
“I believe so.”
“I am brave.”
“Oh, I am sure of that.”
“Then put me to the proof.”
“Listen,” said she; “I yield to your protestations, I submit to your assurances. But I swear to you, before God who hears us, that if you betray me, and my enemies pardon me, I will kill myself while accusing you of my death.”
“And I—I swear to you before God, madame,” said D’Artagnan, “that if I am taken while accomplishing the orders you give me, I will die sooner than do anything or say anything that may compromise any one.”
Then the young woman confided to him the terrible secret, a part of which had already been revealed to him, by chance, in front of the Samaritaine.
This was their mutual declaration of love.
D’Artagnan was radiant with joy and pride. This secret which he possessed, this woman whom he loved—confidence and love made him a giant.
“But still there is another thing,” said Madame Bonacieux.
“What is that?” asked D’Artagnan, seeing that Madame Bonacieux hesitated to proceed.
“You have, perhaps, no money?”
“Perhaps is too much,” said D’Artagnan, smiling.
“Then,” replied Madame Bonacieux, opening a cupboard and taking from it the very bag which half an 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 his broken floor, every syllable of the conversation between the mercer and his wife.
“The cardinal’s,” replied Madame Bonacieux. “You see it makes a very respectable appearance.”
“Zounds!” cried D’Artagnan, “it will be a doubly amusing affair to save the queen with his Eminence’s money!”
“You are an amiable and charming young man!” said Madame Bonacieux. “Be assured you will not find her Majesty ungrateful.”
“Oh, I am already more than 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 for.”
“Silence!” said Madame Bonacieux, starting.
“What!”
“Some one is talking in the street.”
“It is the voice of—”
“Of my husband! Oh yes, I recognized 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 the door for him.”
“But I ought to be gone too. And the disappearance of this 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 Madame Bonacieux, “you say that in a tone which terrifies me!”
Madame Bonacieux pronounced these words with tears in her eyes. D’Artagnan saw these tears, and much disturbed, softened, he threw himself at her feet.
