The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [98]
Just as she said these words, a knock on the ceiling made her look up, and a voice that came to her through the floor-boards called to her:
“Dear Mme Bonacieux, open the little door to the alley for me, and I’ll come down to you.”
XVIII
THE LOVER AND THE HUSBAND
“Ah, Madame!” said d’Artagnan as he came through the door the young woman opened for him, “allow me to tell you, it’s a sorry husband you’ve got there!”
“So you heard our conversation?” Mme Bonacieux asked sharply, looking worriedly at d’Artagnan.
“All of it.”
“But, my God, how is it possible?”
“By a process known to me, and by means of which I also listened to the more lively conversation you had with the cardinal’s beagles.”
“And what did you understand of what we said?”
“A thousand things: first of all, that your husband, fortunately, is a ninny and a dolt; then, that you were in difficulties, for which I was quite glad, because it gives me an occasion to put myself at your service, and God knows I’m ready to go through fire for you; finally, that the queen needs a brave, intelligent, and devoted man to travel to London for her. I have at least two of the three qualities you need, and here I am.”
Mme Bonacieux did not reply, but her heart leaped for joy, and a secret hope shone in her eyes.
“And what guarantee will you give me,” she asked, “if I agree to entrust you with this mission?”
“My love for you. Speak, then, give your orders: what must I do?”
“My God! my God!” murmured the young woman. “Ought I to entrust you with such a secret, Monsieur? You’re almost a boy!”
“Come, I see you need someone who can answer for me to you.”
“I confess that would greatly reassure me.”
“Do you know Athos?”
“No.”
“Porthos?”
“No.”
“Aramis?”
“No. Who are these gentlemen?”
“The king’s musketeers. Do you know M. de Tréville, their captain?”
“Oh, yes! Him I know, not personally, but from having heard the queen speak of him more than once as a brave and loyal gentleman.”
“You’re not afraid that he’ll betray you to the cardinal, are you?”
“Oh, no, certainly not!”
“Well, then, reveal your secret to him, and, important, precious, terrible as it may be, ask him if you can entrust it to me.”
“But the secret doesn’t belong to me, and I can’t reveal it like that.”
“You were going to entrust it to M. Bonacieux, weren’t you?” d’Artagnan said spitefully.
“As one entrusts a letter to a hollow tree, a pigeon’s wing, a dog’s collar.”
“And yet you see very well that I love you.”
“So you say.”
“I am a gallant man!”
“I believe it.”
“I’m brave!”
“Oh, that I’m sure of!”
“Then put me to the test.”
Mme Bonacieux gazed at the young man, held back by a last hesitation. But there was such ardor in his eyes, such persuasiveness in his voice, that she felt drawn to trust him. Besides, she found herself in one of those circumstances when one must risk all to win all. The queen would be ruined just as well by too great a discretion as by too great a confidence. Then, too, we must confess, the involuntary feeling she had for her young protector decided her to speak.
“Listen,” she said to him, “I yield to your protestations and give way to your assurances. But I swear to you before God who hears us that if you betray me and my enemies pardon me, I will kill myself and accuse you of my death.”
“And I swear to you before God, Madame,” said d’Artagnan, “that if I am caught carrying out the orders you give me, I will die before doing or saying anything that will compromise anyone.”
Then the young woman entrusted to him the terrible secret, part of which chance had already revealed to him across from the Samaritaine. This was their mutual declaration of love.
“I’ll go,” he said, “I’ll go at once.”
“What do you mean you’ll go!” cried Mme Bonacieux. “What about your regiment, your captain?”
“By my soul, you’ve made me forget all that, dear Constance! Yes, you’re right, I must ask for a leave.”
“Another