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D’Artagnan profited from the lamp burning in the ferryman’s hut to reread Mme Bonacieux’s note once again and assure himself that he was not mistaken, that the rendezvous was indeed at Saint-Cloud and not somewhere else, in front of M. d’Estrées’s pavilion and not in some other street.

Everything combined to prove to d’Artagnan that his forebodings had not deceived him and that a great misfortune had occurred.

He went back to the château at a run. It seemed to him that in his absence something new might have happened at the pavilion and that information awaited him there.

The lane was still deserted, and the same calm and sweet light streamed from the window.

D’Artagnan then thought of that mute and blind hovel which had undoubtedly seen and might perhaps speak.

The gate of the enclosure was locked, but he jumped over the hedge and, despite the barking of the chained-up dog, approached the hut.

To his first knocking there was no response.

A dead silence reigned in the hut, as in the pavilion. However, since this hut was his last resource, he persisted.

Soon he seemed to hear a slight noise inside, a timorous noise, which itself seemed to tremble lest it be heard.

Then d’Artagnan stopped knocking and pleaded, with an accent so full of care and of promises, of fright and cajolery, that his voice would have reassured the most fearful person. At last an old worm-eaten shutter opened, or rather half-opened, and closed again as soon as the light of a wretched lamp burning in a corner lit up d’Artagnan’s baldric, sword hilt, and pistol butts. However, quick as the movement was, d’Artagnan had time to glimpse an old man’s head.

“In the name of heaven,” he said, “listen to me! I’ve been waiting for someone who hasn’t come. I’m dying of worry. Has there been any trouble in the neighborhood? Speak!”

The window slowly opened, and the same face appeared again, only it was still paler than the first time.

D’Artagnan naively recounted his story, all but giving names. He said that he had had a rendezvous with a young woman in front of this pavilion, and that, seeing she did not come, he had climbed the linden and, by the light of the lamp, had seen the disorder of the room.

The old man listened attentively, nodding that it was all so. Then, when d’Artagnan finished, he shook his head with an air that foretold nothing good.

“What do you mean to say?” cried d’Artagnan. “In the name of heaven, explain yourself!”

“Oh, Monsieur,” said the old man, “don’t ask me anything! For if I tell you what I saw, it’s sure that nothing good will happen to me.”

“Then you did see something?” d’Artagnan picked up. “If so, in the name of heaven,” he went on, tossing him a pistole, “tell me, tell me what you saw, and I give you my word as a gentleman that everything you say will remain locked in my heart.”

The old man read such frankness and such grief in d’Artagnan’s face that he made a sign for him to listen and told him in a low voice:

“It was just about nine o’clock. I had heard some noise in the street and wanted to find out what it might be, but as I approached my gate, I saw that someone was trying to get in. As I’m a poor man and have no fear of being robbed, I went to open it and saw three men a few steps away. In the shadow, there was a carriage with horses hitched to it and some riding horses. The riding horses evidently belonged to the three men, who were dressed as cavaliers.

“‘Ah, my good gentlemen!’ I cried, ‘what do you want?’

“‘You must have a ladder?’ the one who seemed to be the leader of the escort asked me.

“‘Yes, Monsieur, the same that I use to gather fruit.’

“‘Give it to us and go back inside. Here’s an écu for the trouble we’re causing you. Only remember that if you say a word about what you’re going to see and hear (because you’ll look and listen no matter how we threaten you, I’m sure of that), you’re a lost man.’

“At those words, he tossed me an écu, which I picked up, and took my ladder.

“In fact, after I closed the hedge gate behind them,