The Three Musketeers. Александр Дюма
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She was a charming woman, about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age; with blue eyes, a nose slightly turned up, beautiful teeth, and a complexion of intermingled rose and opal. Here, however, ended the charms which might have confounded her with a lady of high birth. Her hands were white, but not delicately formed; and her feet did not indicate a woman of quality. Fortunately, d’Artagnan was not of an age to be nice in these matters.
Whilst d’Artagnan was examining Madame Bonancieux, and had got, as we have said, to her feet, he saw on the ground a fine cambric handkerchief, which, naturally, he picked up; and, at the corner of it, he discovered the same cipher that he had seen on the handkerchief which had nearly caused him and Aramis to cut one another’s throats. Since that time d’Artagnan had mistrusted all coronetted handkerchiefs; and he now put that which he had picked up into Madame Bonancieux’s pocket, without saying a word. At that moment Madame Bonancieux recovered her senses. She opened her eyes, looked around her in affright, and saw that the room was empty, and that she was alone with her deliverer. She immediately held out her hands to him, with a smile—and Madame Bonancieux had the most charming smile in the world.
“Ah! sir,” said she, “it is you who have saved me; allow me to thank you!”
“Madame,” replied d’Artagnan, “I have only done what any gentleman would have done in my situation. You owe me no thanks.”
“Yes, yes, sir, I do; and I hope to prove to you that this service has not been for naught. But what did these men, whom I at first took for robbers, want with me? and why is not M. Bonancieux here?”
“Madame, these men were far more dangerous than any robbers would have been, for they are agents of the cardinal; and as for your husband, M. Bonancieux, he is not here, because he was taken yesterday to the Bastile.”
“My husband in the Bastile!” cried Madame Bonancieux. “Oh, my God! what can he have done, poor, dear man! Why, he is innocence itself!”
And something like a smile glanced across the yet alarmed countenance of the young woman.
“As to what he has been doing, madame,” said d’Artagnan, “I believe that his only crime consists in having at the same time the good fortune and the misfortune of being your husband.”
“Then, sir, you know?”
“I know that you were carried off, madame.”
“But by whom? do you know that? Oh, if you know, pray tell me!”
“By a man about forty or forty-five years of age, with dark hair, a brown complexion, and a scar on the left temple.”
“Just so, just so: but his name?”
“Ah! his name—I don’t know it myself.”
“And did my husband know that I had been carried off?”
“He had been informed of it by a letter sent him by the ravisher himself.”
“And does he suspect,” demanded Madame Bonancieux, with some confusion, “the cause of this abduction?”
“He attributes it, I believe, to some political cause.”
“At first I doubted whether it was so, but now, as I think, he does; and so my dear M. Bonancieux did not mistrust me for a single instant?”
“Ah! so far from that, madame, he was too proud of your prudence and your love.”
A second smile, almost imperceptible, glided over the rosy lips of the beautiful young woman.
“But,” continued d’Artagnan, “how did you make your escape?”
“I profited by a moment in which I was left alone; and as I learned this morning the cause of my abduction, by the help of my sheets I got out of the window, and hurried here, where I expected to find my husband.”
“To place yourself under his protection?”
“Oh, no! poor dear man! I knew that he was incapable of protecting me; but, as he might be of some service to us, I wished to put him on his guard.”
“Against what?”
“Alas! that is not my secret; and I dare not tell it to you.”
“Besides,” said d’Artagnan—“(pardon me, madame, if, protector as I am, I remind you of prudence)—besides, I think that we are scarcely in a situation suitable for confidences. The men whom I have put to flight will return reinforced, and if they find us here, we shall be lost. I have sent to summon three of my friends, but it is uncertain whether they may be at home!”
“Yes! yes! you are right,” said Madame Bonancieux, in alarm; “let us fly: let us escape!”
And seizing d’Artagnan by his arm, she eagerly drew him along.
“But whither shall we fly? where shall we escape to?” said d’Artagnan.
“Let us get away from this place first, and then, having got clear of it, we shall see.”
Without taking the trouble to shut the door, the two young people hastily passed down the Rue des Fossoyeurs, crossed the Rue des Fosses Monsieur le Prince, and did not stop until they reached the Place de St. Sulpice.
“And now, what next?” inquired d’Artagnan; “and whither would you like me to conduct you?”
“I confess that I scarcely know whither,” said Madame Bonancieux. “I had intended, through my husband, to intimate my escape to M. de la Porte, so that the latter might tell us exactly what has happened at the Louvre within the last three days, and whether there would be any danger in my presenting myself there.”
“But I,” said d’Artagnan, “can go and inform M. de la Porte.”
“Undoubtedly; yet there is one difficulty. M. Bonancieux is known at the Louvre, and would be allowed to enter; whilst you, not being known, would not be admitted.”
“Nonsense!” said d’Artagnan: “there is doubtless a porter at some wicket of the Louvre who is devoted to you, and who, thanks to some countersign—”
Madame Bonancieux looked earnestly at the young man.
“And if I trusted you with this countersign,” said she, “would you undertake to forget it as soon as you had made use of it?”
“On my word of honour! on the faith of a gentleman!” said d’Artagnan, with that accent of truth which never can mislead.
“Well, I believe you! You look like a man of honour, and your fortune perhaps may depend on your devotion.”
“I will perform, without any promises, and conscientiously, whatever I can to serve the king, and to be acceptable to the queen,” said d’Artagnan; “use me, therefore, as a friend!”
“But what is to become of me in the meantime?”
“Have you no acquaintance, to whose house M. de la Porte can come for you?”
“No, I would rather not trust to any one!”
“Wait,” said d’Artagnan; “we are now just by Athos’s door; yes, this is the best way!”
“And who is Athos?”
“A friend of mine.”
“But, if he is at home, and sees me?”
“But he is not there, and I will take away the key when I have placed you in his apartment.”
“Suppose he should return?”
“He will not return; besides, if he should, he will be told that I have brought a woman here, and that she is now in his apartment.”
“But don’t you see this will compromise me very much?”
“What need you care! no one knows you. Besides, we are not in a position to be particular.”