“And you say that one of your friends lives in that house?” “I say so, and I repeat it for the third time; that house is one inhabited by my friend, and that friend is Aramis.” “All this will be cleared up at a later period,” murmured the young woman; “no, monsieur, be silent.” “If you could see my heart,” said D’Artagnan, “you would there read so much curiosity that you would pity me and so much love that you would instantly satisfy my curiosity. We have nothing to fear from those who love us.” “You speak very suddenly of love, monsieur,” said the young woman, shaking her head. “That is because love has come suddenly upon me, and for the first time; and because I am only twenty.” The young woman looked at him furtively. “Listen; I am already upon the scent,” resumed D’Artagnan. “About three months ago I was near having a duel with Aramis concerning a handkerchief resembling the one you showed to the woman in his house—for a handkerchief marked in the same manner, I am sure.” “Monsieur,” said the young woman, “you weary me very much, I assure you, with your questions.” “But you, madame, prudent as you are, think, if you were to be arrested with that handkerchief, and that handkerchief were to be seized, would you not be compromised?” “In what way? The initials are only mine—C. B., Constance Bonacieux.” “Or Camille de Bois-Tracy.” “Silence, monsieur! Once again, silence! Ah, since the dangers I incur on my own account cannot stop you, think of those you may yourself run!” “Me?” “Yes; there is peril of imprisonment, risk of life in knowing me.” “Then I will not leave you.” “Monsieur!” said the young woman, supplicating him and clasping her hands together, “monsieur, in the name of heaven, by the honor of a soldier, by the courtesy of a gentleman, depart! There, there midnight sounds! That is the hour when I am expected.” “Madame,” said the young man, bowing; “I can refuse nothing asked of me thus. Be content; I will depart.” “But you will not follow me; you will not watch me?” “I will return home instantly.” “Ah, I was quite sure you were a good and brave young man,” said Mme. Bonacieux, holding out her hand to him, and placing the other upon the knocker of a little door almost hidden in the wall. D’Artagnan seized the hand held out to him, and kissed it ardently. “Ah! I wish I had never seen you!” cried D’Artagnan, with that ingenuous roughness which women often prefer to the affectations of politeness, because it betrays the depths of the thought and proves that feeling prevails over reason. “Well!” resumed Mme. Bonacieux, in a voice almost caressing, and pressing the hand of D’Artagnan, who had not relinquished hers, “well: I will not say as much as you do; what is lost for today may not be lost forever. Who knows, when I shall be at liberty, that I may not satisfy your curiosity?” “And will you make the same promise to my love?” cried D’Artagnan, beside himself with joy.