The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [62]
What in the Devil’s name could this handkerchief mean to these people?
From his point of vantage, D’Artagnan could not distinguish Aramis, but he felt certain it was his friend within conversing with the lady without. Curiosity prevailed over prudence. Making the most of the couple’s preoccupation over the handkerchief, he emerged from his hiding-place and swift as lightning but stepping with the utmost caution, flattened himself against an angle of the wall, whence he could see into the room Aramis occupied.
Looking in, he almost cried out, so great was his surprise. It was not with Aramis the midnight visitor was conversing but with another woman! He perceived her clearly enough to recognize the clothes she wore but he could not make out her features.
The woman inside now drew a handkerchief from her pocket and exchanged it for the one the visitor had shown her. The two women spoke a few words more and presently the shutter was closed. The visitor turned back and passed within four steps of D’Artagnan, lowering the hood of her mantle. But her precaution was too late; D’Artagnan had recognized Madame Bonacieux.
Madame Bonacieux! Already when he had seen her draw the handkerchief from her pocket a suspicion had flashed through his mind, but he dismissed it. After all, was it likely that Madame Bonacieux, having sent for Monsieur de La Porte to conduct her back to the Louvre, would be running about the streets of Paris alone at half-past eleven at night at the risk of being abducted a second time?
Her errand must be one of immense importance. And what is the most important errand for a woman of twenty-five? Love.
Was she exposing herself to such hazards on her own account or for the sake of somebody else? There, thought D’Artagnan, lay the whole problem as the demon of jealousy gnawed at his heart as bitterly as though he were already her accepted lover. Well, there was a very simple means of finding out where Madame Bonacieux was going; he need but follow her.
Seeing the young man as he detached himself from the wall like a statue walking out of its niche and hearing his footsteps resound so near her, Madame Bonacieux uttered a little cry and fled.
D’Artagnan, running after her, had no difficulty in overtaking a woman burdened by a long, heavy cloak; he came abreast of her before she was one-third of the way down the street. The unfortunate woman was exhausted not by fatigue but by terror, and when D’Artagnan laid his hand on her shoulder, she fell to one knee and cried in a choking voice:
“Kill me if you like, I shall not tell you anything.”
D’Artagnan slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to her feet; as he felt that she was about to faint, he hastily comforted her by protestations of devotion. Such protestations meant nothing to Madame Bonacieux for a person might make them while harboring the most evil intentions in the world; but the voice that uttered them meant everything to her. Despite her confusion, she thought she recognized that voice; she opened her eyes, cast a glance at the man who had terrified her, and recognizing D’Artagnan, gave a cry of joy.
“Oh, it is you! Thank God! Thank God!”
“Yes, it is I, whom God has sent to watch over you.”
“Was that why you followed me?”
The moment she recognized her supposed enemy to be a friend, all her fears vanished. She flashed him a coquettish smile.
“No,” D’Artagnan told her, “I must confess it was chance threw me in your way. I saw a woman tapping at the window of one of my friends.”
“Of one of your friends?”
“Certainly, Aramis is one of my best friends.”
“Aramis? Who is he?”
“Come, come, you’re not telling me you don’t know Aramis?”
“This is the first time I have ever heard his name.”
“And I suppose it is the first time you ever went to his house?”
“Assuredly.”
“And you did not know that a young man lived there?”
“No.”
“A musketeer?”
“No, indeed.”
“So you weren’t looking for Aramis?”
“Absolutely not. Besides,