Meanwhile, the young man had darted in to his chamber, and opened the letter. It was from Mme. Bonacieux, and was expressed in these terms:
“There are many thanks to be offered to you, and to be transmitted to you. Be this evening about ten o’clock at St. Cloud, in front of the pavilion which stands at the corner of the house of M. d’Estrées.—C.B.”
While reading this letter, D’Artagnan felt his heart dilated and compressed by that delicious spasm which tortures and caresses the hearts of lovers.
It was the first billet he had received; it was the first rendezvous that had been granted him. His heart, swelled by the intoxication of joy, felt ready to dissolve away at the very gate of that terrestrial paradise called Love!
“Well, monsieur,” said Planchet, who had observed his master grow red and pale successively, “did I not guess truly? Is it not some bad affair?”
“You are mistaken, Planchet,” replied D’Artagnan; “and as a proof, there is a crown to drink my health.”
“I am much obliged to Monsieur for the crown he has given me, and I promise him to follow his instructions exactly; but it is not the less true that letters which come in this way into shut-up houses—”
“Fall from heaven, my friend, fall from heaven.”
“Then Monsieur is satisfied?” asked Planchet.
“My dear Planchet, I am the happiest of men!”