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"Place this man in the care of his guards again, and let him wait till I send for him." "No, monseigneur, no, it is not he!" cried Bonacieux; "no, I was deceived. This is quite another man, and does not resemble him at all. Monsieur is, I am sure, an honest man." "Take away that fool!" said the cardinal.
In the meantime, the mousetrap continued in operation, and likewise d'Artagnan's vigilance. On the evening of the day after the arrest of poor Bonacieux, as Athos had just left d'Artagnan to report at M. de Treville's, as nine o'clock had just struck, and as Planchet, who had not yet made the bed, was beginning his task, a knocking was heard at the street door.
The cardinal listened with a smile to this vociferous manifestation of the feelings of M. Bonacieux; and then, when Bonacieux's cries were no longer audible, "Good!" said he, "that man would henceforward lay down his life for me."
"Yes; Madame Bonacieux, with whose retreat the cardinal was unacquainted." "Well, well," said Rochefort, "here is a chance which may pair off with the other! Monsieur Cardinal is indeed a privileged man!" "Imagine my astonishment," continued Milady, "when I found myself face to face with this woman!" "Does she know you?" "No." "Then she looks upon you as a stranger?" Milady smiled.
"That of either our friends or our enemies," said Milady, with her terrible coolness. "Stay where you are, I will tell you." Mme. Bonacieux remained standing, mute, motionless, and pale as a statue. The noise became louder; the horses could not be more than a hundred and fifty paces distant. If they were not yet to be seen, it was because the road made an elbow.
Athos had passed through all the examinations we have seen Bonacieux undergo. We were present at the scene in which the two captives were confronted with each other. Athos, who had till that time said nothing for fear that d'Artagnan, interrupted in his turn, should not have the time necessary, from this moment declared that his name was Athos, and not d'Artagnan.
Then d'Artagnan, disposed to become the most tender of lovers, was at the same time a very devoted friend, In the midst of his amorous projects for the mercer's wife, he did not forget his friends. The pretty Mme. Bonacieux was just the woman to walk with in the Plain St. Denis or in the fair of St. Germain, in company with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, to whom d'Artagnan had often remarked this.
I have touched the hand of the great man!" cried Bonacieux. "The great man has called me his friend!" "Yes, my friend, yes," said the cardinal, with that paternal tone which he sometimes knew how to assume, but which deceived none who knew him; "and as you have been unjustly suspected, well, you must be indemnified. Here, take this purse of a hundred pistoles, and pardon me."
"Pardon, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux, if I don't stand upon ceremony," said d'Artagnan, "but nothing makes one so thirsty as want of sleep. I am parched with thirst. Allow me to take a glass of water in your apartment; you know that is never refused among neighbors." Without waiting for the permission of his host, d'Artagnan went quickly into the house, and cast a rapid glance at the bed.
He looked around him and saw Mme. Bonacieux dead, and d'Artagnan in a swoon. He appeared just at that moment of stupor which follows great catastrophes. "I was not deceived," said he; "here is Monsieur d'Artagnan; and you are his friends, Messieurs Athos, Porthos, and Aramis." The persons whose names were thus pronounced looked at the stranger with astonishment.
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