The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [64]
“Be honest, Monsieur. You manufactured this story and invented this character in order to make me talk.”
“I am manufacturing and inventing nothing. I am speaking the naked truth.”
“You say that a friend of yours lives in that house?”
“I say and repeat for the third time: a friend of mine lives in that house and his name is Aramis.”
“This misunderstanding will be cleared up later,” the young woman murmured, “but for the present, Monsieur, please be silent.”
“If you could see plainly into my heart, you would discover so much curiosity that you would have pity on me and so much love that you would satisfy my curiosity at once. A woman has nothing to fear from the man who loves her.”
“You speak very suddenly of love,” she objected, shaking her head.
“That is because love has come upon me very suddenly, because I was never in love before and because I am only nineteen.”
The young woman eyed him shyly.
“Listen to me, Madame, I am already on the scent,” D’Artagnan continued. “Three months ago I almost fought a duel with Aramis over a handkerchief like the one you showed the woman in his house, a handkerchief bearing the same crest, I am sure.”
“Monsieur, I assure you that you are wearying me with all this questioning.”
“But you, Madame, prudent as you are, just think: if you were to be arrested and that handkerchief seized, wouldn’t you be compromised?”
“In what way? The initials are mine, C. B. for Constance Bonacieux.”
“Or for Camille de Bois-Tracy.”
“Silence, Monsieur! Once again, silence! If the dangers I myself face cannot stop you, think of those you are facing.”
“I?”
“Yes, you. By knowing me you are in danger of imprisonment or even of death.”
“Then I refuse to leave you.”
“Monsieur,” the young woman implored, her hands clasped, “Monsieur, in the name of Heaven, on the honor of a soldier and the courtesy of a gentleman, please, please be off. Hark! midnight is striking, the hour of my appointment.”
“Madame,” said D’Artagnan bowing, “I cannot refuse a request couched in such terms. Be content, I will go my way.”
“You won’t follow me, you won’t watch me?”
“I shall go straight home.”
“Ah, I was sure of it, I knew you were a gentleman,” said Madame Bonacieux.
Seizing her outstretched hand, D’Artagnan kissed it ardently. Then, with that naïve brutality which women often prefer to the affectations of politeness (because it betrays the depths of a man’s thoughts and establishes the triumph of feeling over reason) he murmured:
“Ah, would to God I had never seen you!”
“Well, well, I will not say the same about you!” Her voice was almost caressing and she squeezed the hand that still clung to hers. “What is lost today is not lost forever. Who knows, some day I may be free to satisfy your curiosity.”
“Will you promise the same to my love?” D’Artagnan asked, overcome with joy.
“Oh, as to that, I will not commit myself. It depends on the feelings you may stir in me.”
“So that today, Madame—”
“Today, Monsieur, my feelings do not go beyond gratitude.”
“You are too beautiful,” D’Artagnan sighed, “and you take advantage of my love.”
“No, of your generosity! Pray believe me, Monsieur, with certain people, everything works out well.”
“Oh, you have made me the happiest of mortals! Do not forget this evening, do not forget your promise.”
“Rest assured, in good time and at the proper place, I shall remember everything. And now go, go in Heaven’s name! I was expected promptly at midnight and I am late.”
“Five minutes late.”
“Yes, but in certain circumstances, five minutes are five centuries!”
“To a person in love.”
“Who told you I was not meeting a lover this evening?”
“A lover is waiting for you!” D’Artagnan cried indignantly. “A lover!”
“Oh dear! so the argument is to begin all over again?” she sighed, half-smiling, half-impatient.
“No, no, I’m off, I’m leaving; I believe in you and I wish to enjoy my devotion even were that devotion stupid. Farewell, Madame, farewell.”
As if it required the most violent effort