“Madame Bonacieux!” murmured D’Artagnan. “Can I be so lucky as to find what everybody is seeking for?”
The voice became more and more indistinct; a tumultuous movement shook the partition. The victim resisted as much as a woman could resist four men.
“Pardon, gentlemen—par—” murmured the voice, which could now only be heard in inarticulate sounds.
“They are binding her; they are going to drag her away,” cried D’Artagnan to himself, springing up from the floor. “My sword! Good, it is by my side! Planchet!”
“Monsieur.”
“Run and seek Athos, Porthos and Aramis. One of the three will certainly be at home, perhaps all three. Tell them to take arms, to come here, and to run! Ah, I remember, Athos is at Monsieur de Tréville’s.”
“But where are you going, monsieur, where are you going?”
“I am going down by the window, in order to be there the sooner,” cried D’Artagnan. “You put back the boards, sweep the floor, go out at the door, and run as I told you.”
“Oh, monsieur! Monsieur! You will kill yourself,” cried Planchet.
“Hold your tongue, stupid fellow,” said D’Artagnan; and laying hold of the casement, he let himself gently down from the first story, which fortunately was not very elevated, without doing himself the slightest injury.