“Are you sure, in her conversation with you, that your wife mentioned no names?” “I think not.” “She did not name Madame de Chevreuse, the Duke of Buckingham, or Madame de Vernet?” “No; she only told me she wished to send me to London to serve the interests of an illustrious personage.” “The traitor!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux. “Silence!” said D’Artagnan, taking her hand, which, without thinking of it, she abandoned to him. “Never mind,” continued the man in the cloak; “you were a fool not to have pretended to accept the mission. You would then be in present possession of the letter. The state, which is now threatened, would be safe, and you—” “And I?” “Well you—the cardinal would have given you letters of nobility.” “Did he tell you so?” “Yes, I know that he meant to afford you that agreeable surprise.” “Be satisfied,” replied Bonacieux; “my wife adores me, and there is yet time.” “The ninny!” murmured Mme. Bonacieux. “Silence!” said D’Artagnan, pressing her hand more closely. “How is there still time?” asked the man in the cloak. “I go to the Louvre; I ask for Mme. Bonacieux; I say that I have reflected; I renew the affair; I obtain the letter, and I run directly to the cardinal.” “Well, go quickly! I will return soon to learn the result of your trip.” The stranger went out. “Infamous!” said Mme. Bonacieux, addressing this epithet to her husband. “Silence!” said D’Artagnan, pressing her hand still more warmly. A terrible howling interrupted these reflections of D’Artagnan and Mme. Bonacieux. It was her husband, who had discovered the disappearance of the moneybag, and was crying “Thieves!” “Oh, my God!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, “he will rouse the whole quarter.” Bonacieux called a long time; but as such cries, on account of their frequency, brought nobody in the Rue des Fossoyeurs, and as lately the mercer’s house had a bad name, finding that nobody came, he went out continuing to call, his voice being heard fainter and fainter as he went in the direction of the Rue du Bac. “Now he is gone, it is your turn to get out,” said Mme. Bonacieux. “Courage, my friend, but above all, prudence, and think what you owe to the queen.” “To her and to you!” cried D’Artagnan. “Be satisfied, beautiful Constance. I shall become worthy of her gratitude; but shall I likewise return worthy of your love?” The young woman only replied by the beautiful glow which mounted to her cheeks. A few seconds afterward D’Artagnan also went out enveloped in a large cloak, which ill-concealed the sheath of a long sword. Mme. Bonacieux followed him with her eyes, with that long, fond look with which he had turned the angle of the street, she fell on her knees, and clasping her hands, “Oh, my God,” cried she, “protect the queen, protect me!” Chapter XIX. PLAN OF CAMPAIGN