It was a terrible answer. She became excessively pale, leaned her beautiful hand upon a stand, a hand which then appeared like one of wax, and looking at the king, with terror in her eyes, she was unable to reply by a single syllable.
“You hear, madame,” said the king, who enjoyed this embarrassment to its full extent, but without guessing the cause—“you hear, madame?”
“Yes, sire, I hear,” stammered the queen.
“Very well,” said the king, retiring—“very well; I count on it.”
The queen made a curtsy, less from etiquette than because her knees were sinking under her.
“I am lost,” murmured the queen, “lost! for the cardinal knows all, and it is he who urges on the king, who as yet knows nothing, but will soon know everything. I am lost! My God, my God!”
She knelt upon a cushion and prayed, with her head buried between her palpitating arms.
Thus, while contemplating the misfortune which threatened her and the abandonment in which she was left, she broke out into sobs and tears.
“Can I be of no service to your Majesty?” said all at once a voice full of sweetness and pity.
The queen turned quickly round, for there could be no mistake in the tone of that voice. It was a friend who spoke thus.
In fact, at one of the doors which opened into the queen’s apartment appeared the pretty Madame Bonacieux. She had been engaged in arranging the dresses and linen in a closet when the king entered. She could not get out, and had heard all.
The queen uttered a piercing cry at finding herself discovered, for in her trouble she did not at first recognize the young woman who had been given to her by La Porte.
“Oh, fear nothing, madame!” said the young woman, clasping her hands, and weeping herself at the queen’s sorrow; “I am your Majesty’s, body and soul, and however far I may be from you, however inferior may be my position, I believe I have discovered a means of extricating your Majesty from your trouble.”
“You! O heaven, you!” cried the queen; “but look me in the face. I am betrayed on all sides. Can I trust in you?”
“O madame!” cried the young woman, falling on her knees, “upon my soul, I am ready to die for your Majesty.”
This expression came from the very bottom of the heart, and, like the first, there was no mistaking it.
“Yes,” continued Madame Bonacieux—“yes, there are traitors here; but by the holy name of the Virgin, I swear that none is more devoted to your Majesty than I am. Those studs which the king speaks of, you gave them to the Duke of Buckingham, did you not? Those studs were in a little rosewood box, which he held under his arm? Am I mistaken? Is it not so, madame?”
“Yes.”
“Well, those studs,” continued Madame Bonacieux, “we must have them back again.”
“Yes, without doubt, it is necessary,” cried the queen. “But what can be done? How can it be effected?”
“Some one must be sent to the duke.”
“But who, who? In whom can I trust?”
“Place confidence in me, madame. Do me that honour, my queen, and I will find a messenger.”
“But I must write.”
“Oh yes; that is indispensable. Two words from the hand of your Majesty and your own private seal.”
The queen ran to a little table, upon which were pens, ink, and paper. She wrote two lines, sealed the letter with her private seal, and gave it to Madame Bonacieux.
“And now,” said the queen, “we are forgetting one very necessary thing.”
“What is that, madame?”
“Money.”
Madame Bonacieux blushed.
Anne of Austria ran to her jewel-case.
“Here,” said she—“here is a ring of great value, as I have been told. It came from my brother, the king of Spain. It is mine, and I am at liberty to dispose of it. Take this ring, and turn it into money.”
“In an hour you shall be obeyed, madame.”
“You see the address,” said the queen, speaking so low that Madame Bonacieux could hardly hear what she said—“To my Lord Duke of Buckingham, London.”
“The letter shall be given to him.”
“Generous girl!” cried Anne of Austria.
Madame Bonacieux kissed the queen’s hands, concealed the paper in the bosom of her dress, and disappeared with the lightness of a bird.
Ten minutes afterwards she was at home. As she had not seen her husband since his liberation, she was ignorant of the change that had taken place in him with respect to the cardinal—a change which had since been strengthened by two or three visits from the Comte de Rochefort, who had become Bonacieux’s best friend, and who had persuaded him without great difficulty that nothing culpable had been intended by the carrying off of his wife, but that it was only a piece of political precaution.
She found Bonacieux alone.
Madame Bonacieux offered him her forehead to kiss.
“Let us talk a little,” said she.
“What!” said Bonacieux, astonished.
“Yes; I have something of great importance to tell you.”
“What! What brings you to me? Is it not the desire of seeing a husband again from whom you have been separated for a week?” asked the mercer, very much piqued.
“Yes, that first, and other things afterwards.”
“Speak, then.”
“You must set out immediately. I will give you a paper which you must not part with on any account, and which you will deliver into the proper hands.”
“And where am I to go?”
“London.”
“I go to London! You are joking. I have nothing to do in London.”
“But others require that you should go there.”
“But who are those others? I warn you that I will never again work in the dark, and that I will know not only to what I expose myself, but for whom I expose myself.”
“An illustrious person sends you, an illustrious person awaits you. The recompense will exceed your expectations; that is all I promise you.”
“More intrigues! nothing but intrigues! Thank you, madame; I am aware of them now. The cardinal has enlightened me on that head.”
“The cardinal?” cried Madame Bonacieux. “Have you seen the cardinal?”
“He sent for me,” answered the mercer proudly.
“He ill-treated you, then? He threatened you?”
“He gave me his hand, and he called me his friend—his friend! Do you hear that, madame? I am a friend of the great cardinal!”
“Of the great cardinal!”
“I am sorry for it, madame, but I acknowledge no other power than that of the great man whom I have the honour to serve.”
“Ah, you are a cardinalist, then, sir, are you?” cried she; “and you serve the party of those who ill-treat your wife and insult your queen?”
“Private interests are as nothing before the interests of all. I am for those who are saving the state,” said Bonacieux emphatically.
“And do you know what that state is you talk about?” demanded Madame Bonacieux, shrugging her shoulders. “Be satisfied with being a plain, straightforward bourgeois, and turn your attention toward that side which holds out the greatest advantages.”
“Eh, eh!” said Bonacieux, slapping a plump, round bag, which gave back a silvery sound; “what do you think of this, my lady preacher?”
“Where does that money come from?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“From the cardinal?”
“From him, and from my friend the Comte de Rochefort. But what do you require of me then? Come, let us see.”
“I have told you. You must set out instantly, sir; you must accomplish loyally the commission with which I deign to charge you; and on that condition I pardon everything, I forget everything; and still further“—and she held out her hand to him—“I give you my love again.”
“But, my dear love, reflect a little upon what you require of me. London is far from Paris, very far, and perhaps the commission with which you charge me is not without dangers?”
“Of what consequence is that, if you avoid them?”
“Well, then, Madame Bonacieux,” said the mercer—“well, then, I positively refuse. Intrigues terrify me.”
Bonacieux fell into a profound reflection. He turned the two angers in his brain—the cardinal’s and the queen’s. The cardinal’s predominated enormously.
“Well, I will give it up, then,” said the young woman, sighing. “It is well as it is; say no more about it.”
“Supposing, at least, you should tell me what I should have to do in London,” replied Bonacieux.
“It is of no use for you to know anything about it,” said the young woman, who drew back now by an instinctive mistrust. “It was about one of those follies of interest to women, a purchase by which much might have been gained.”
But the more the young woman fought shy of committing herself, the more important Bonacieux conceived to be the secret which she declined to communicate to him. He resolved, then, that instant to hasten to the Comte de Rochefort, and tell him that the queen was looking for a messenger to send to London.
“Pardon me for leaving you, my dear Madame Bonacieux,” said he; “but not knowing you would come to see me, I had made an engagement with a friend. I shall soon return; and if you will wait only a few minutes for me, as soon as I have concluded my business with that friend, I will come to get you; and as it is growing late, I will conduct you back to the Louvre.”
“No, thank you, sir; you are not brave enough to be of any use to me whatever,” replied Madame Bonacieux. “I shall return very safely to the Louvre by myself.”
“As you please, Madame Bonacieux,” said the mercer. “Shall I have the pleasure of seeing you soon again?”
“Yes; next week I hope my duties will afford me a little liberty, and I will take advantage of it to come and set things to rights here, as they must be somewhat upset.”
“Very well; I shall expect you. You are not angry with me?”
“Who?—I? Oh, not the least in the world.”
“Farewell till then.”
“Till then.”
Bonacieux kissed his wife’s hand and set off at a quick pace.
“Well,” said Madame Bonacieux, when her husband had shut the street door and she found herself alone, “the only thing still lacking that fool was to become a cardinalist! And I, who have answered for him to the queen—I, who have promised my poor mistress—ah, my God! my God! she will take me for one of those wretches who swarm the palace, and are placed about her as spies! Ah, Monsieur Bonacieux, I never did love you much, but now it is worse than ever. I hate you! and by my word you shall pay for this!”
At the moment she spoke these words a rap on the ceiling made her raise her head, and a voice which reached her through the ceiling cried,
“Dear Madame Bonacieux, open the little side door for me, and I will come down to you.”
Chapter 16 - The Lover and the Husband
“Ah, madame,” said D’Artagnan, as he entered by the door which the young woman had opened for him, “allow me to tell you that you have a sorry husband there.”
“Then you overheard our conversation?” asked Madame Bonacieux eagerly, and looking at D’Artagnan with much uneasiness.
“The whole of it.”
“But, my God! how could you do that?”
“By a method known to myself, and by which I likewise overheard the more animated conversation which you had with the cardinal’s bailiffs.”
“And what did you understand by what we said?”
“A thousand things. In the first place, that, fortunately, your husband is a simpleton and a fool. In the next place, that you are in trouble, of which I am very glad, as it gives me an opportunity of placing myself at your service; and God knows I am ready to throw myself into the fire for you. And that the queen wants a brave, intelligent, devoted man to make a journey to London for her. I have, at least, two of the three qualities you stand in need of, and here I am.”
Madame Bonacieux made no reply, but her heart beat with joy, and a secret hope shone in her eyes.
“And what pledge can you give me,” asked she, “if I consent to confide this message to you?”
“My love for you. Speak! command! What must I do?”
“But this secret is not mine, and I cannot reveal it in this manner.”
“Why, you were going to confide it to M. Bonacieux,” said D’Artagnan in vexation.
“As we confide a letter to the hollow of a tree, to the wing of a pigeon, or the collar of a dog.”
“And yet—you see plainly that I love you.”
“You say so.”
“I am an honourable man.”
“I believe so.”
“I am brave.”
“Oh, I am sure of that.”
“Then put me to the proof.”
“Listen,” said she; “I yield to your protestations, I submit 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 while accusing you of my death.”
“And I—I swear to you before God, madame,” said D’Artagnan, “that if I am taken while accomplishing the orders you give me, I will die sooner than do anything or say anything that may compromise any one.”
Then the young woman confided to him the terrible secret, a part of which had already been revealed to him, by chance, in front of the Samaritaine.
This was their mutual declaration of love.
D’Artagnan was radiant with joy and pride. This secret which he possessed, this woman whom he loved—confidence and love made him a giant.
“But still there is another thing,” said Madame Bonacieux.
“What is that?” asked D’Artagnan, seeing that Madame Bonacieux hesitated to proceed.
“You have, perhaps, no money?”
“Perhaps is too much,” said D’Artagnan, smiling.
“Then,” replied Madame Bonacieux, opening a cupboard and taking from it the very bag which half an hour before her husband had caressed so affectionately, “take this bag.”
“The cardinal’s?” cried D’Artagnan, breaking into a loud laugh, he having heard, as may be remembered, thanks to his broken floor, every syllable of the conversation between the mercer and his wife.
“The cardinal’s,” replied Madame Bonacieux. “You see it makes a very respectable appearance.”
“Zounds!” cried D’Artagnan, “it will be a doubly amusing affair to save the queen with his Eminence’s money!”
“You are an amiable and charming young man!” said Madame Bonacieux. “Be assured you will not find her Majesty ungrateful.”
“Oh, I am already more than recompensed!” cried D’Artagnan. “I love you; you permit me to tell you that I do; that is already more happiness than I dared to hope for.”
“Silence!” said Madame Bonacieux, starting.
“What!”
“Some one is talking in the street.”
“It is the voice of—”
“Of my husband! Oh yes, I recognized it!”
D’Artagnan ran to the door and pushed the bolt.
“He shall not come in before I am gone,” said he; “and when I am gone, you can open the door for him.”
“But I ought to be gone too. And the disappearance of this money— how am I to justify it if I am here?”
“You are right. We must go out.”
“Go out? How? He will see us if we go out.”
“Then you must come up into my room.”
“Ah,” said Madame Bonacieux, “you say that in a tone which terrifies me!”
Madame Bonacieux pronounced these words with tears in her eyes. D’Artagnan saw these tears, and much disturbed, softened, he threw himself at her feet.
“In my apartment you will be as safe as in a temple. I give you my word as a gentleman.”
