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 tone 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.”