“Then,” replied Mme. Bonacieux, opening a cupboard and taking from it the very bag which a half hour before her husband had caressed so affectionately, “take this bag.”
“The cardinal’s?” cried D’Artagnan, breaking into a loud laugh, he having heard, as may be remembered, thanks to the broken boards, every syllable of the conversation between the mercer and his wife.
“The cardinal’s,” replied Mme. Bonacieux. “You see it makes a very respectable appearance.”
“Pardieu,” cried D’Artagnan, “it will be a double amusing affair to save the queen with the cardinal’s money!”
“You are an amiable and charming young man,” said Mme. Bonacieux. “Be assured you will not find her Majesty ungrateful.”
“Oh, I am already grandly recompensed!” cried D’Artagnan. “I love you; you permit me to tell you that I do—that is already more happiness than I dared to hope.”
“Silence!” said Mme. Bonacieux, starting.
“What!”
“Someone is talking in the street.”
“It is the voice of—”