The conversation naturally fell upon the incarceration of the poor man. M. Bonacieux, who was ignorant that d’Artagnan had overheard his conversation with the stranger of Meung, related to his young tenant the persecutions of that monster, M. de Laffemas, whom he never ceased to designate, during his account, by the title of the “cardinal’s executioner,” and expatiated at great length upon the Bastille, the bolts, the wickets, the dungeons, the gratings, the instruments of torture.
D’Artagnan listened to him with exemplary complaisance, and when he had finished said, “And Madame Bonacieux, do you know who carried her off?–For I do not forget that I owe to that unpleasant circumstance the good fortune of having made your acquaintance.”
“Ah!” said Bonacieux, “they took good care not to tell me that; and my wife, on her part, has sworn to me by all that’s sacred that she does not know. But you,” continued M. Bonacieux, in a tine of perfect good fellowship, “what has become of you all these days? I have not seen you nor your friends, and I don’t think you could gather all that dust that I saw Planchet brush off your boots yesterday from the pavement of Paris.”
“You are right, my dear Monsieur Bonacieux, my friends and I have been on a little journey.”
“Far from here?”
“Oh, Lord, no! About forty leagues only. We went to take Monsieur Athos to the waters of Forges, where my friends still remain.”
“And you have returned, have you not?” replied M. Bonacieux, giving to his countenance a most sly air. “A handsome young fellow like you does not obtain long leaves of absence from his mistress; and we were impatiently waited for at Paris, were we not?”
“My faith!” said the young man, laughing, “I confess it, and so much more the readily, my dear Bonacieux, as I see there is no concealing anything from you. Yes, I was expected, and very impatiently, I acknowledge.”
A slight shade passed over the brow of Bonacieux, but so slight that d’Artagnan did not perceive it.
“And we are going to be recompensed for our diligence?” continued the mercer, with a trifling alteration in his voice–so trifling, indeed, that d’Artagnan did not perceive it any more than he had the momentary shade which, an instant before, had darkened the countenance of the worthy man.
“Ah, may you be a true prophet!” said d’Artagnan, laughing.
“No; what I say,” replied Bonacieux, “is only that I may know whether I am delaying you.”
“Why that question, my dear host?” asked d’Artagnan. “Do you intend to sit up for me?”
“No; but since my arrest and the robbery that was committed in my house, I am alarmed every time I hear a door open, particularly in the night. What the deuce can you expect? I am no swordsman.”
“Well, don’t be alarmed if I return at one, two or three o’clock in the morning; indeed, do not be alarmed if I do not come at all.”
This time Bonacieux became so pale that d’Artagnan could not help perceiving it, and asked him what was the matter.
“Nothing,” replied Bonacieux, “nothing. Since my misfortunes I have been subject to faintnesses, which seize me all at once, and I have just felt a cold shiver. Pay no attention to it; you have nothing to occupy yourself with but being happy.”
“Then I have full occupation, for I am so.”
“Not yet; wait a little! This evening, you said.”
“Well, this evening will come, thank God! And perhaps you look for it with as much impatience as I do; perhaps this evening Madame Bonacieux will visit the conjugal domicile.”
“Madame Bonacieux is not at liberty this evening,” replied the husband, seriously; “she is detained at the Louvre this evening by her duties.”
“So much the worse for you, my dear host, so much the worse! When I am happy, I wish all the world to be so; but it appears that is not possible.”
The young man departed, laughing at the joke, which he thought he alone could comprehend.
“Amuse yourself well!” replied Bonacieux, in a sepulchral tone.
But d’Artagnan was too far off to hear him; and if he had heard him in the disposition of mind he then enjoyed, he certainly would not have remarked it.