“Who is this Athos?” “One of my friends.” “But if he should be at home and see me?” “He is not at home, and I will carry away the key, after having placed you in his apartment.” “But if he should return?” “Oh, he won’t return; and if he should, he will be told that I have brought a woman with me, and that woman is in his apartment.” “But that will compromise me sadly, you know.” “Of what consequence? Nobody knows you. Besides, we are in a situation to overlook ceremony.” “Come, then, let us go to your friend’s house. Where does he live?” “Rue Férou, two steps from here.” “Let us go!” Both resumed their way. As D’Artagnan had foreseen, Athos was not within. He took the key, which was customarily given him as one of the family, ascended the stairs, and introduced Mme. Bonacieux into the little apartment of which we have given a description. “You are at home,” said he. “Remain here, fasten the door inside, and open it to nobody unless you hear three taps like this;” and he tapped thrice—two taps close together and pretty hard, the other after an interval, and lighter. “That is well,” said Mme. Bonacieux. “Now, in my turn, let me give you my instructions.” “I am all attention.” “Present yourself at the wicket of the Louvre, on the side of the Rue de l’Echelle, and ask for Germain.” “Well, and then?” “He will ask you what you want, and you will answer by these two words, ‘Tours’ and ‘Bruxelles.’ He will at once put himself at your orders.” “And what shall I command him?” “To go and fetch Monsieur Laporte, the queen’s _valet de chambre_.” “And when he shall have informed him, and Monsieur Laporte is come?” “You will send him to me.” “That is well; but where and how shall I see you again?” “Do you wish to see me again?” “Certainly.” “Well, let that care be mine, and be at ease.” “I depend upon your word.” “You may.” D’Artagnan bowed to Mme. Bonacieux, darting at her the most loving glance that he could possibly concentrate upon her charming little person; and while he descended the stairs, he heard the door closed and double-locked. In two bounds he was at the Louvre; as he entered the wicket of L’Echelle, ten o’clock struck. All the events we have described had taken place within a half hour. Everything fell out as Mme. Bonacieux prophesied. On hearing the password, Germain bowed. In a few minutes, Laporte was at the lodge; in two words D’Artagnan informed him where Mme. Bonacieux was. Laporte assured himself, by having it twice repeated, of the accurate address, and set off at a run. Hardly, however, had he taken ten steps before he returned. “Young man,” said he to D’Artagnan, “a suggestion.” “What?” “You may get into trouble by what has taken place.” “You believe so?” “Yes. Have you any friend whose clock is too slow?” “Well?” “Go and call upon him, in order that he may give evidence of your having been with him at half past nine. In a court of justice that is called an alibi.”