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“Well?”

“Well, so the carriage is at the gate, you say good-bye to me, you stand on the footboard to hug me one last time; my brother’s servant, who has come to take me, is forewarned, he gives the postilion a sign, and off we gallop.”

“But d’Artagnan, what if d’Artagnan comes?”

“Won’t we know it?”

“How?”

“Nothing could be simpler. We send my brother’s servant back to Béthune. As I’ve told you, we can trust him. He puts on a disguise and takes lodgings facing the convent. If the cardinal’s emissaries come, he doesn’t stir; if it’s M. d’Artagnan and his friends, he takes them to us.”

“He knows them, then?”

“Of course! As if he hasn’t seen M. d’Artagnan in my house!”

“Oh, yes, yes, you’re right! And so, all is well, all is for the best; but let’s not go far from here.”

“Seven or eight leagues at the most. We’ll keep close to the border, for example, and at the first alert, we can leave France.”

“And what to do between now and then?”

“Wait.”

“But if they come?”

“My brother’s carriage will come before them.”

“What if I’m far away from you when they come to take you—at dinner or supper, for instance?”

“Do this one thing.”

“What?”

“Tell your good mother superior that, in order for us to be apart as little as possible, you ask her permission to share my meals.”

“Will she permit it?”

“What objection can there be?”

“Oh, very good! In this way we won’t be apart for a moment!”

“Well, go down to her, then, and make your request. My head feels heavy, I’m going to take a turn in the garden.”

“Yes, do. And where shall I find you?”

“Here, an hour from now.”

“Here, an hour from now. Oh, you’re so good! Thank you, thank you!”

“How should I not take an interest in you? You’re not only beautiful and charming, but also the friend of one of my best friends!”

“Dear d’Artagnan! Oh, how he’ll thank you!”

“I hope so. Come, it’s all agreed. Let’s go down.”

“You’re going to the garden?”

“Yes.”

“Follow this corridor, a little stairway will take you to it.”

“Perfect! Thank you.”

And the two women parted, exchanging charming smiles.

Milady had told the truth, her head was heavy, for her ill-assorted plans were colliding there as if in chaos. She needed to be alone so as to bring a little order to her thoughts. She had a vague view of the future, but she needed a little peace and quiet to give to all her still confused ideas a distinct form, a finished plan.

Besides, she sensed, as one senses an approaching storm, that the outcome was near and could not fail to be terrible.

The main thing for her, as we have said, was thus to keep Mme Bonacieux in her hands. Mme Bonacieux was d’Artagnan’s life; she was more than his life, she was the life of the woman he loved; in case of bad luck, she was a means of negotiating and of securing good conditions.

Now, this point was settled: Mme Bonacieux would follow her unsuspectingly. Once hidden with her in Armentières, it would be easy to make her believe that d’Artagnan had not come to Béthune. In two weeks at the most, Rochefort would be back. During those two weeks, moreover, she would see about what to do in order to be revenged on the four friends. She would not be bored, thank God, for she would have the sweetest pastime that events could grant to a woman of her character: the perfecting of a nice vengeance.

While she mused, she glanced around her and arranged in her head the topography of the garden. Milady was like a good general, who at the same time foresees both victory and defeat, and who is quite ready, according to the chances of battle, to go forward or beat a retreat.

At the end of an hour, she heard a sweet voice calling her: it was Mme Bonacieux. The good abbess had naturally agreed to everything, and, to begin with, they would have supper together.

As they came into the courtyard, they heard the sound of a carriage stopping at the gate.

“Do you hear?” she said.

“Yes, the rolling of a carriage.”

“It’s the one my brother is sending us.”

“Oh, my God!”

“Come, come, have courage!”

Milady was not mistaken: someone rang at the convent