the deuce, then, could this handkerchief mean?
Situated as he was, d’Artagnan could not see the countenance of Aramis—we say Aramis, because the young man had no doubt that it was his friend who was conversing from the inside with the lady on the outside. His curiosity, therefore, overcame his prudence; and, profiting by the earnest attention which the sight of the handkerchief excited in the two persons whom we have described, he left his place of concealment, and, quickly as lightning, yet with cautious step, placed himself near a corner of the wall, from which his eye could completely overlook the inside of Aramis’s apartment.
On reaching this spot, he was scarcely able to restrain an exclamation of surprise. It was not Aramis who was conferring with the midnight visitor, but a woman. D’Artagnan could just discern enough to recognise the general aspect of her vesture, but not to distinguish her features. At that moment the woman in the room drew a handkerchief from her own pocket, and exchanged it for the one which had been shown to her. A few words were then pronounced by the two women, the shutter was closed, and the woman in the street returned, and, lowering the hood of her cloak passed within four paces of d’Artagnan. But her precaution had been taken too late; he had already recognised Madame Bonancieux.
Madame Bonancieux! The suspicion had already crossed his mind when he saw her take the handkerchief from her pocket; but what probability was there that Madame Bonancieux, who had sent for M. de la Porte, in order that he might conduct her to the Louvre, should be coursing through the streets of Paris at half-past eleven at night, at the hazard of being carried off a second time? It must unquestionably be on some important affair; and what affair is of importance to a woman of twenty-five but love?
But was it on her own account, or that of some other person, that she exposed herself to this risk? This was the inward doubt of the young man, whom the demon of jealousy was now tormenting, as though he had been an acknowledged lover. To satisfy himself as to where Madame Bonancieux was going, there was, in fact, one very simple way, which was to follow her. So simple, indeed, did this course appear, that d’Artagnan adopted it naturally, and as it were by instinct.
But, at the sight of the young man who moved from the wall, like a statue escaping from its alcove, and at the sound of his steps behind her, Madame Bonancieux uttered a faint scream, and fled.
D’Artagnan ran after her. It was no great difficulty for him to catch a woman encumbered by a large cloak. He overtook her, in fact, before she had gone a third of the length of the street. The poor woman was exhausted, not by fatigue, but terror; and when d’Artagnan put his hand upon her shoulder, she sunk upon one knee, exclaiming in a suffocated voice—
“I will die before you learn anything.”
D’Artagnan raised her up, by placing his arm round her waist, but, perceiving by her weight that she was upon the point of fainting, he hastened to encourage her by protestations of devotion. These protestations were of no avail against Madame Bonancieux, for they may easily be made with the most mischievous intentions in the world; but the voice was everything. The young woman thought that she recognised that voice. She opened her eyes, threw one glance upon the man who had so frightened her, and, seeing that it was d’Artagnan, gave utterance to a cry of joy.
“Oh! it is you, it is you,” said she. “God be thanked!”
“Yes, it is I,” said d’Artagnan, “whom God has sent to guard you.”
“And was it with this intent that you followed me,” asked the young woman, with a smile full of coquetry; for all her fears had vanished, and her love of badinage had resumed its ascendancy, on the instant that she recognised a friend in him whom she had dreaded as a foe.
“No,” replied d’Artagnan. “No, I confess that it is chance which put me on your track. I saw a woman knocking at the window of one of my friends.”
“Of one of your friends!” interrupted Madame Bonancieux.
“Yes, certainly! Aramis is one of my intimates.”
“Aramis! who is he?”
“Come, now, do you pretend to tell me that you do not know Aramis?”
“It is the first time that I ever heard his name.”
“Then it is the first time that you have visited this house?”
“Yes, indeed!”
“And you did not know that a young man occupied it?”
“No.”
“A musketeer?”
“By no means.”
“Then it was not him that you came to look for?”
“Most assuredly not! Besides, you must have plainly seen that the person whom I talked to was a woman.”
“That is true; but then this woman is one of Aramis’s friends!”
“I know nothing about that.”
“Why, she lodges at his house.”
“That is not my affair.”
“But who is she?”
“Oh! that is not my secret.”
“My dear Madame Bonancieux, you are very charming, but you are at the same time the most mysterious creature.”
“Is that to my loss?”
“No; on the contrary, it lends you enchantment!”
“As that is the case, give me your arm.”
“With great pleasure; what now?”
“Now take care of me.”
“Where to?”
“Where I am going.”
“But where may that be?”
“You will see, since you will leave me at the door.”
“May I wait for you there?”
“That would be useless.”
“Then you will return alone?”
“Possibly.”
“But the person who will accompany you afterwards—will it be a man or a woman?”
“I do not know yet.”
“But I will find out.”
“And how so?”
“I will wait to see you come out.”
“In that case, adieu!”
“But, why?”
“I do not want you!”
“But you claimed my protection.”
“I claimed the assistance of a gentleman, and not the vigilance of a spy.”
“You are severe.”
“How would you call those who follow people who don’t want them?”
“Indiscreet!”
“The term is too mild!”
“Come, madame, I see that one must obey you.”
“Why deprive yourself of the merit of doing so at once?”
“Is there none in my repentance?”
“But do you sincerely repent?”
“I don’t know that myself. But I do know that I promise to do just what you wish, if you will let me accompany you where you are going.”
“And you will leave me afterwards?”
“Yes.”
“Without awaiting my exit?”
“Certainly.”
“On your word of honour?”
“On