“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.
“Oh, as to that, I do not engage myself. That depends upon the sentiments with which you may inspire me.”
“Then today, madame—”
“Oh, today, I am no further than gratitude.”
“Ah! You are too charming,” said D’Artagnan, sorrowfully; “and you abuse my love.”