The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [58]
That is what a mousetrap is.
Master Bonacieux’s apartment was thus made into a mousetrap, and whoever turned up there was taken and questioned by M. le cardinal’s people. It goes without saying that, as a private alley led to the second floor inhabited by d’Artagnan, those who came to his place were exempt from all such visits.
Besides, the three musketeers came there separately. Each of them had set out searching in his own direction, and had found nothing, had discovered nothing. Athos had even gone so far as to question M. de Tréville, a thing which, given the customary silence of the worthy musketeer, had greatly surprised his captain. But M. de Tréville knew nothing, except that the last time he had seen the cardinal, the king, and the queen, the cardinal had had an extremely worried look, the king had been upset, and the reddened eyes of the queen had indicated that she had lain awake or wept. But this last circumstance had not struck him very much, because, ever since her marriage, the queen had lain awake and wept a great deal.
M. de Tréville charged Athos in any case to serve the king and above all the queen, begging him to give the same charge to his comrades.
As for d’Artagnan, he did not budge from home. He had converted his room into an observatory. From the windows he saw people coming to be caught; then, as he had removed some tiles from the floor and dug through the subflooring, and only the simple ceiling separated him from the room below where the interrogations took place, he heard everything that went on between the inquisitors and the accused.
The interrogations, preceded by a thorough search carried out on the arrested person, almost always ran as follows:
“Did Mme Bonacieux give you anything for her husband or for some other person?
“Did M. Bonacieux give you anything for his wife or for some other person?
“Did either of them confide anything to you by word of mouth?”
“If they knew anything,” d’Artagnan said to himself, “they wouldn’t question that way. Now, what are they trying to find out? Whether the duke of Buckingham is anywhere in Paris, and whether he has had or is going to have another interview with the queen.”
D’Artagnan stopped at this idea, which, after all he had heard, was not without probability.
In the meantime, the mousetrap stayed in place, and d’Artagnan’s vigilance as well.
The evening of the day after poor Bonacieux’s arrest, as Athos was leaving d’Artagnan to report to M. de Tréville, as it had just struck nine, and as Planchet, who had not yet made the bed, was getting to work, someone was heard knocking on the street door. The door opened at once, and closed again; someone had just been caught in the mousetrap.
D’Artagnan rushed for the untiled place, lay down on his stomach, and listened.
Soon cries rang out, then moans that they attempted to stifle. This was no interrogation.
“Devil take it!” d’Artagnan said to himself. “It seems to be a woman! They’re searching her, she’s resisting—they’re forcing her, the scoundrels!”
And d’Artagnan, despite his prudence, had all he could do to keep from interfering in the scene that was taking place below him.
“But I tell you I am the mistress of the house, gentlemen; I tell you I am Mme Bonacieux; I tell you I am attached to the queen!” cried the unfortunate woman.
“Mme Bonacieux!” murmured d’Artagnan. “Can I be so lucky as to have found what everyone is looking for?”
“That’s just what we’ve been waiting for,” said the interrogators.
The voice became more and more muffled; a violent movement made the wainscotting echo. The victim was resisting as much as a woman can resist four men.
“Forgive me, gentlemen, for…” the voice murmured, after which it produced only inarticulate sounds.
“They’ve gagged her, they’re going to drag her off,” cried d’Artagnan, straightening up as if moved by a spring. “My sword—good, it’s at my side. Planchet!”
“Monsieur?”
“Run to find Athos, Porthos, and